#when your every waking thought is consumed by worrying and uncertainty and fear. that's probably not ideal

[juliamccartney]

it's Worrying About My Future And The Consequences Of My Actions (Or Lack Thereof) hours again

[universallychaoticpan]

For gold and sweet slumber

Hange x fem!reader

There were few things Hange loved more than all nighters in their lab, the silence only broken by the soft sputtering of the candlelight in the lamps that painted the room in honey-colored light. Especially when they'd recently made a new discovery, had had a breakthrough, or simply got lost in the scientific texts that covered their office wall to wall and back again. Truly, they'd probably have spent the rest of their life alone in that room had it not been for that damn teacup. One morning, far to early to be awake and still be sane, Hange had been tearing through the scouts' latest base, their footsteps echoing through the drafty stone halls. Pounding on Levi's door, it opened to reveal a very tired looking Erwin and behind him, Levi's glowering, eyes looking ready to kill. Rushing past him, Hange started talking excitedly about their latest findings, pretending not to see the way the captain was practically begging her to go back to their office and let them sleep.

Back and forth they paced, almost tripping over their feet several times before-

CRASH

They'd bumped into the wall, sending Levi's teacup collection rattling and shaking along the shelf before one fell, as if in slow motion, before shattering on the cold ground, with shards of carefully decorated porcelain landing at their feet.

Hange wished she had been exagerating when she said that the moment the shops in town opened, Levi had dragged them inside to buy a replacement. And thank the walls he had

Because there, behind the counter, eyes still bleary from sleep, was you, the young owner of the shop that Levi had so often frequented. Smiling at the sight of the familiar man before you, you quickly launched into an explanation of all the newest blends you'd stocked up on since his last visit. And Hange was being honest when they said they'd never been so excited to hear about a new herb blend from inside wall Sina. Levi nodded politely before he and Hange stepped away to find the newest addition to his collection.

And thank the walls they were walking away. Which was good for you, because it meant you could hide the blush quickly spreading across your cheeks, immediately waking you up. Part of you wanted to yell at Levi for not bringing his companion with him sooner. After some time, they gathered their things and left, the woman you now knew as Zoe Hange leaving with a small wave to you that only made your smile grow wider.

Oh, pull yourself together, you chided silently, you've only just seen them and already you're gigling like a lovesick school girl. Brushing off your skirts, you resigned yourself to readying your shop even further for the day ahead.

But the thought of them stuck with you, not helped at all by the fact that they were now with Levi whenever he wandered in. And eventually, after a few weeks, they began coming on their own just to talk to you. You learned that they were a section commander for the sruvey corps, and one of the leading researchers when it came to knowledge about the titans. She learned that you had owned the tea shop since you were 18 years old, when your mother had passed away and left the business to you. Sometimes, when they just needed to get out of their makeshift lab, something they never thought they'd want to do in favor of spending time with another person, they'd walk the short way over to town, and knock on your door before you let them inside with a smile, just like always. They would work while you cleaned up after the day, a comfortable silence filling the room as you both stole glances at one another before looking away bashfully. You'd end the night by falling into easy conversations, laughing and sharing stories as the candles danced, burning lower and lower while the hours passed. More than once, you'd found yourself frantically opening up after waking minutes before to the brunette snoring across the table from you.

You found yourself worrying for them when they left on expeditions, even though you knew they'd come back. You'd still remind yourself that she was a seasoned soldier who could take care of herself, and that within a week, she'd be back talking animatedly with you over midnight tea.

And unbeknownst to you, they were thinking about returning to the interior out in the field, just because it meant being with you again. In your shop that was quiet and felt like safety, making you laugh with that voice clearer than the cathedral bells that rang over the walls, sweeter than the sugar and honey you sold day by day.

Thinking of your kind eyes and bright smile, they almost didn't notice the abnormal titan charging towards them until Moblit dragged them out of the way, slaying the titan a few moments later with another warning of 'that was far to close, section commander.'

That was it. They needed to do something about their constant pinning, their need to tell you exactly how they felt consuming their every waking moment, memories of you permeating their mind. For once in her life, she wanted more than anything to get away from the giant brutes that roamed the land and go home.

They'd found the best things of their solitude with you, and everything they'd ever yearned for. The quiet they loved to sit in while they worked was just as comforting in your presence, but the way your eyes lit up with fascination as they told you their ideas was just as invigorating. They'd be lying if they said they hadn't felt their heart rise in their throat and a blush creep across their skin when you cleaned and bandaged a cut they'd obtained while taking a sample, when they'd woken up to your features relaxed as you slept across the table from them.

So as soon as they rode back through the gates, they tore through the city on their own, weaving throngs of people on the same route they had traveled for months now. Going to your shop was so familiar to them that they probably could have done it with their eyes closed. However this was not the time to run that particular experiment.

With a pleasant jingle, the door swung open, causing you to look up in surprise at the commander how standing in your doorway, panting heavily. Your smile brightened, then fell a bit when they simply stood in the door, looking fearful.

Moving towards them slowly, you gently took their hands in yours, causing them to meet you eyes so full of concern, so full of care, as if the only thing on your mind was how to help them. The thought filled them with saccharine warmth as they brought their hands up to gently cradle your face, your line of sight completely obscured by the brunette looking into your eyes so intensely you felt you'd melt, and yet full of gentle uncertainty as you leaned into their touch. In one final second, you both seemed to understand every emotion, intention, and action of the person across from you, understanding becoming undeniable as your lips brushed theirs ever so softly.

You leaned into each other as the kiss deepened, one hand traveling to the back of your neck while the other wrapped around your waist, your hands curling into their hair while their tongue swept across your bottom lip in feather light strokes.

One thing was clear to the both of you now:

This was complete and pure bliss, the kind of tentative joy people spent their lives searching for.

And it had all come about because of an all-nighter, a very annoyed captain, and a broken tea cup.

////

Another day, another mildly self indulgent piece about one of my favorites. Hope you enjoyed this, I might make a part two so tell me if you'd be interested in reading that. (I'll probably do it anyway lmao.) Likes, comments and reblogs are always welcome, and so are requests and asks. <3

[jenmitski]

Running Away With Me

jennie kim x reader

tw: a little heavy, implication of self-harm or suicide but doesn't go too deep into it. hope you are well :)

"Let's run away together."

You raise your eyebrows, shocked. The idea doesn't sound horrible— not in the slightest, but it's so abrupt. It's so out of nowhere, and most of all, it's just unrealistic. You guys were only in high school. How were you two going to make a living for yourselves? How were you going to even be able to pack your bags without raising suspicion? You weren't the closest with your mom, but you couldn't imagine worrying her like that.

As if sensing your hesitation, Jennie turns her head to you. You both are sitting on a log at the back of some warehouse where a big party is going on. It's a fun night, and there's a fun concert inside, but Jennie wasn't in the mood to have fun. She just wanted to sit with you. Now that you think about it, she'd probably wanted to propose the idea to you the whole time, seeming more reserved than usual all night, like there was something on her mind. There's a firepit in front of you, and the flames are bright on her face. She looks so beautiful. You don't believe it would take much convincing for you to agree to run away with her, and while the thought scares you, you sit and wait for her to speak.

"I know it sounds crazy, okay?" She says, her eyes vulnerable. By the way she bites her lip, you can tell she's afraid you'll call her crazy and leave. But that's not you, so you take her hand and squeeze it to reassure her it's okay. She sends you a soft smile at the action, twisting your hands so that she can lace your fingers together and hold them in a tight clasp. Taking a deep breath, she averts her gaze to the fire. You keep your eyes on her, unable to take them away. "I just- I'm so tired, y/n." Your heart breaks a little at the words. You know how stressful it's been for her lately. "School has been awful. I'm not failing because I've put all of my energy into it, but I don't think I have any more left to give. I'm going to start failing- and when that happens, my parents will be so upset with me. And I won't be able to act in any more plays if my grades get too low." Her voice gets a little shaky, and you squeeze her hand one more time to calm her down. She sighs, glancing down at your hands one more time before looking back at the fire in front of her. "I don't know if I want to stick around here to see that. I- I don't think I could take it. It would be too much."

You furrow your eyebrows, the words concerning you. "What do you mean you won't be able to take it? You're so strong, Jen."

Immediately, she shakes her head, and you see a single tear fall down her cheek. "I need to leave this town. I need to go. If I don't, I don't know what I'll do to myself."

Your hand untangles from hers, leaving it to instead hold her face in both of your hands, turning her to look at you. You both shift your bodies slightly so that they're facing each other. She reaches one hand up to lazily rest her fingertips on your arm. Closing her eyes, several tears fall. "Don't say that, baby." You whisper, rubbing her cheek with your thumb. She relaxes into your touch, but she can't stop the small sobs that come out. Pulling her close, you wrap her in a warm embrace as she cries into your chest, not caring to be silent anymore. The sound almost makes you cry. You hate seeing her in pain, and this is the result of her bottling it up, of her never taking a break. You stroke her hair rhythmically, trying to soothe her as best as possible. It takes a few minutes, but eventually her breathing slows down, and her grip on your shirt loosens, and her whole body relaxes. The muffled sounds of the party inside is so contrasting to how the girl in your arms is feeling, but you know that it's somehow calming you both. You're both slightly in a daze, but a small giggle from Jennie snaps you out of it, your heart beating at the sound.

"What?" you ask, a small smile forming on your face.

"I'm going to fall asleep if you keep stroking my hair like that." She mumbles, the drowsiness from her cry already apparent in her voice.

Your smile widens at that, letting out a chuckle yourself. "Go ahead, you can fall asleep. I can wake you up in an hour or two." Your voice is so filled with love and genuine care it makes Jennie's heart burst. This is when she's happy. Nights like this. With a sigh, she stays in your arms for a moment, and you think she will actually fall asleep right here, but she sits up, looking at you. Her eyes are puffy and slightly red, the sight making your hand reach out and caress her cheek. She hums at the feeling, her eyes fluttering closed for a second before she gently pushes your hand down to rest on her leg instead. When she opens her eyes, they're filled with a fondness that's familiar to you. It's the way she always looks at you, and it never fails to make your heart skip a beat.

"I love you." She says, so quietly it's almost like she exhaled the words. You open your mouth to say it back, but she cuts you off. "Don't. Just let me speak." Closing your mouth, you nod, listening intently. "Hopefully, I can get through this without crying this time..." you both laugh half-heartedly at what she says, before she continues. "I love you, so much. I don't think I've ever loved a person this much in my whole life, and- and I don't think anyone's ever loved me so much either." You place your hand on top of hers, and she does the same with you, your hands stacked atop one another in care. "But I meant what I said," her voice cracks a little bit, and you're worried she's going to cry again, but she composes herself. "If I have to go another month in that place, I- I don't know if I'll be strong enough to take it."

"I'll be there for you, Jen-"

"Even with you with me." She says. "As selfish as that sounds, I just know. And you're right, I'm smart, and I'm strong. But even I know what I can't take. I've been draining myself ever since I entered school, ever since my parents put so much pressure on me to be perfect. And I'm using what little strength I have in me to make this decision and leave." You nod, not knowing if you should speak or not. She looks at you, shakes her head with a laugh, then removes her hands from yours, looking down at her feet. "I'm going to leave either way, whether you come with me or not." The thought makes your heart hurt. She would really leave you? "I don't want to." Her eyes are back on yours. You wonder if she heard your thoughts. "If I left without you, I'd be happier than I am here, but I'd still be hanging on by a thread. Only... the thread would be stronger, I guess." She bites her lip, not sure if the meaning got to you. "Look, what I'm saying is I want to go with you. All you have to do is say yes- and- and I know it's a lot to ask of you so suddenly, but I need to know. If you need a night to think about it, I'll give you it, but I need to go soon and I love you and I'll only be fully happy if you come with me."

Taking a moment to process everything she's saying to you, you sit there. She just looks at you, her eyes pleading for you to agree. To just say yes. To get rid of all her stress and worry and fear with just one word. But, you can't. That's never been you. You like to dream, but you have to be rational. You can't get lost in it. You have to give all decisions some proper thought.

"How soon are you thinking?"

You can tell that a question isn't exactly what she wanted to hear from you, but it's not bad. It still gives her hope, so she sends you a small smile. "I don't really have a set date. Before the month ends."

"The month? That's in two weeks, Jen!"

"We can make it work! I know we can." She reassures you, "Two weeks is a lot of time. And- and besides, that's not the deadline, it's only ideal. I would be okay within three weeks."

"What?" You ask exasperatedly. She shrinks at your tone, and you sigh, rubbing a hand up and down her leg lovingly. Her eyes watch your hands, not wanting to meet your face out of embarrassment. "Look, it's not that I don't want to go with you, Jennie, I- I do, I think." She scoffs at your uncertainty. "But you can't just expect me to blindly agree! You're already so stressed, if we leave unprepared, you'll be under even more stress. Where did you even want to go?"

"New York."

"That's... that's impossible."

"Stop speaking like that!" She exclaims, a hint of anger in her voice. Her eyes are narrowed at you now. "Don't you love me? Don't you believe in me? I have money! I've been saving up money for the past few months, and up until recently, I didn't even know why. But now I do. My body has always known what I wanted to do, okay? And I have always pictured that with you! So could you just please say yes and we can figure this out another night?! Please?" Your eyes soften at the desperation in her voice. What can you say? What should you say? "Please," she begs, "every night I feel like this sadness is going to consume me. Like- like an ocean, like the waves are engulfing me and I'm drowning, but then you come. Baby, you come to me." Her voice is cracking, and you see a line of water threaten to spill at the bottom of her eyes. "You come to me and you pull me out of that, like you're my breath of fresh air. You're my oxygen. I can't breathe without you, y/n. Just take a chance on me, just this once. Let me be the most important thing in your life, let me be selfish with you, please."

No.

No, you tell yourself. No, no, no, no, no. Over and over again. You should say no. You know this probably won't last. You know that even with all the love you two hold for each other, there's still a big chance you both will end up working yourselves to death trying to live, especially in New York, where everyone is trying to make a living.

Yet, the way she's looking at you is just too much. It's filled with too much hope, and vulnerability, and desperation and fear and want and need and love. She loves you, with every bone in her body. And it's the mutual feeling that you have that has you shaking your head yes. That has everything in you sending alarm signals to your brain as you say the word, "Okay." And you almost can't believe yourself. You almost want to take it back. To end things here, to tell her that you'll still support her but you can't leave with her.

But then her whole face lights up. Then she flashes that same gummy smile at you that you've come to love. Then she throws her arms around you and squeals in excitement and you hear the most joy from her voice in months. Then you realize just how much she's been under, and as much as you've tried to help, you've never really seen it the way you do now as she grips you so tightly and thanks you repeatedly. And then you know you couldn't have said no, no matter what. You know you wouldn't have said no in any universe, in any world, in any place, no matter how much or how little convincing she tried to do.

You hug her back, laughing happily at her small sounds of excitement. She pulls away from the hug, only to capture your lips in a kiss. It's filled with emotion, with passion, and you two can't stop smiling and laughing in between kisses that you can never kiss longer than several pecks. You can taste the salt from her tears on your lips. You could bask in her joy right now. You are. For someone who was so hesitant only a few minutes ago, you feel like you share the same amount of excitement for the future as her.

"I love you," she whispers, her forehead leaning on yours as she stares into your eyes. Her hands are cupping your face intimately. "I know I'm asking for a lot."

"I don't care." You say, and you definitely do not. "I would throw it all away for you. I will throw that all away. Because you're right, Jen. I'm your oxygen. And you are mine. And any life with you away from me is meaningless."

She laughs sweetly, "You're so cheesy."

"Says you. You just poured out your heart to me using several literary devices."

"Ew, no school talk." She complains, before capturing you in another kiss. This one is longer, now that the happiness is beginning to calm down and settle in you two. It doesn't get too heated, but you both only pull away when you need to come up for air. You both sit there for a little bit afterwards, giggling together at the high you're feeling. "See, doesn't it feel good to take a risk?"

"Only with you, angel."

She hums, pecking your lips one more time. "I'm so glad I met you."

You smile. This girl is about to ruin your life.

"Me too."

----

A/N: If you stumbled upon this, hope you enjoyed loool, it was inspired by LIS: Before The Storm, or more specifically the character of Rachel Amber hehe. Sorry if it's shitty or if it feels rushed, but it was just an idea in my head :) lmk what u think or smth if that's what ur heart desires !!

[yacoka]

the beginning

ii. the silent song of souls

character(s) — tsukishima kei, matsukawa issei

pairing — tsukishima kei x reader

genre — royalty!au, reincarnation!au, soulmate!au

warning(s) — death, brief mentions of war, PTSD, loss

beta(s) — @/doughnuts-5ever

masterlist

Bone-chilling screams echo off the stone walls, bouncing through the corridors as people run mindlessly about the castle, Shadows dance upon the walls, touching briefly before scattering, blending into the dark walls of the castle.

“Issei,” you breathe out, placing a worried hand on your best friend’s shoulder.

“I know, but it’s not safe. You have to stay in here.” Matsukawa pats your hand reassuringly. His expression betrays his emotions however, thick brows furrowed in worry as his usual sleep clouded eyes are now alert. No matter how much he tries to comfort you, every sound from outside your chambers has his hands twitching towards his sword.

You stare into the blinding flames of the fireplace, eyes transfixed by the way they dance about, burning up they touch. Worry and fear that gnaw in the pit of your stomach, and the desperation to know what was going on has you restless.

You're tempted to reach into the fire, to feel something other than the uneasy blend of emotions. You wonder how the fire would feel like, crawling up your skin, eating away at the dress you wore. It would probably feel better than the bile that creeps up your throat, the idea of people dying in your name making you ill.

“Y/n,” Matsukawa calls out to you weakly.

Spinning around, you find him bleeding out on the floor, a blade stuck through his chest.

“Issei!” You choke, rushing to his side. God, there was so much blood. Why was there so much blood?

“Issei, hang on, I’ll go get someone, please,” you cry out, pressing down on the edges of the mortal wound unsurely.

“It’s no use, I won’t survive this.” His smile is a broken one, filled with blood and regret. “I’ll die here, in your name.”

“No, Issei, please,” your hands flutter around his wound, trying your best to staunch the bleeding, but it only causes the blood to surge out more, staining your hands and the pale white chemise you wore.

He coughs roughly, his whole body convulsing in pain.

“Because of you,” he gasps out, “I will die here, without a future, for a spoiled brat who isn't worth my life.”

You recoil from his harsh words.

“No, it's not- Issei-”

All you can do is repeat his name helplessly as he tells you of the future he has lost, choked out between shallow breaths and bloody coughs.

With every word, the blood spreads until you are soaked in it, drenched with the blood of your best friend, with the blood of those who have died because of you tonight.

“It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s yOUR FAULT. IT’S YOUR FAU-”

You jolted awake, chest heaving as you rushed to the window, the moonlight illuminating your clean hands. They were clean. They were clean. They were clean.

(So why the hell can you still feel the stickiness of blood dripping from your hands and down your body?)

The words bounced around in your head, leaving a pounding headache in their wake. The cold sweat covering your body has you shifting uncomfortably as your heart raced, the overwhelming guilt and fear still racing through your veins.

“Issei,” you whispered, clenching your eyes shut. “Issei, I’m so sorry.”

You sat there, slumped against the cool stone of the walls until day broke, your hands clenched into tight fists, leaving crescent moons imprinted into the velvety skin of your palm.

That was how your ladies found you. With poorly disguised looks of pity, they hoisted you up and got you ready for the day. The soft chatter that flowed around you steadied you, pulling your mind back from the crumbling edge.

Today was not the day you would lose your mind, your spirit. Issei would have wanted you to live for him. It was what he gave his life for.

Today, you will not break.

Akasuki helped you out of the now-cool bath, drying you off and fitting you into your armor for the day, painting on your mask with deft strokes of her gentle hand.

A firm knock on the door had one of your ladies rushing to it, peering out at the visitor. A few words later, and she pulled back into the room with a letter in hand.

“Your highness, this is for you.” She bowed deeply and opened the letter for you to read. Your eyes scan it quickly.

“I’m to join Prince Tsukishima in the gardens for a walk it seems.”

Akasuki merely nodded in response as she applied the finishing touches. “Just in time then.”

You swept through the long, arching corridors, guards and servants alike bowing out of your way hastily. Your mask was a fragile thing today, paper-thin and fragile. It was crinkled and weak, and just a wrong touch would send it crumbling. The strength you have is only enough to keep it up until you make it to the gardens, and a single short glance from Tsukishima already had it cracking once more.

“You look terrible.”

The carefully crafted smile fell as your eyes relaxed into a tired indifference, your face sagging with exhaustion. You shot him a tired glare.

“And you’re such a gentleman.” Your voice lacked the sarcasm meant for the statement, and the brittleness of it had you wincing internally.

Tsukishima held his arm out - the one with the red string entwined around it, you noted with exhausted amusement - and you entwined your arm around it. The contact was steadying, and your next breath came easier. The pressure on your head eased as Tsukishima tugged you closer ever so slightly.

“Shall we?” He tilted his head down at you. “Or are you too unwell for even a stroll?”

The scowl that slipped onto your face is less than ladylike and would have your etiquette teachers fainting if they saw it. You didn't bother dignifying his dig with a response, tugging roughly on his arm as you strode forward.

The casual conversation that flowed as you walked through the Tsukishima’s royal gardens washed away any lingering memory of the haunting dream, and you found yourself laughing at Tsukishima’s dry humor. He would have gotten along well with Issei, you noted with a wistful smile.

You learnt that day that Tsukishima was a fan of bones (“Paleontology,” he had snapped at your teasing. “Fossil bones, not just any bones.”), he has a sweet tooth, and he enjoys music (“Not the horrid song we danced to last night, but proper music.” He insisted on playing for you after lunch.).

The remaining days blurred together as you spent most of your time with Prince Tsukishima exploring the castle grounds, visiting the nearby village, and even sneaking out one night to stargaze. The last day of your stay was spent in the grand ballroom where a grand piano sat, and Tsukishima taught you how to play.

His slender fingers covered yours as he guided your hands over the keys, and you found yourself closing your eyes, losing yourself to the melody that flooded the ballroom. Your eyes flew open when you realized what you were playing.

“Isn’t this-”

“The song we danced to on the first day? Yes, it is.” He smiled down at you softly.

You grin at him, your eyes lighting up. “Why, I thought you said it was a horrid song!”

His nose crinkled up in distaste even as your fingers continue to dance haltingly across the keys. “It is, but you like it, so I thought I’d teach you.” A note of uncertainty slipped into his voice, a wrong key slipping from his careful control.

“I do like it, thank you, Prince Tsukishima.”

“Kei. Call me Kei.” His voice was soft as the song came to an end, his brown eyes locked onto yours, his smile turning bashful.

“Kei,” you repeated after him. “Call me Y/n.”

You were just barely past the edge of sleep, your mind a floating mess of thoughts and images from the week’s events. Prince Tsukishima sat at the centre of it, and the memory that shone the brightest is him smiling at you, with that soft, vulnerable look in his usually guarded eyes.

“Kei,” he had whispered. “Call me Kei.”

You could feel yourself flushing even as you entered a light sleep-

Your body jerked upright, eyes flying open as your heart thundered, panic jolting through you in jerky waves. Wild eyes searched the room for the cause of this, and a constricting feeling on your pinky where the string lay drew your attention. It was almost painful, and the fear radiating through it seeped into your bones.

But what are you so afraid for?

(You don’t realize that the fear comes from Tsukishima, who’s chambers are at the opposite end of the wing. You don’t see the thin line slit across his throat, red spraying from his pale neck as he tries to claw his way towards the door to find someone, anyone to protect you.)

Your fingers curl around the string, trying to steady yourself against the silent scream of emotions in the too-quiet night.

(You don’t see the all-consuming panic as he chokes on his blood, nor the terror in his eyes as the life seeps out of him.)

The string is pulled so taut you’re afraid it might snap, and the intensity of the multitude of emotions flowing off of it is enough to tug you out of bed.

(You don’t see him reaching helplessly for you even in his last moments, nails dripping red from the effort that it takes to crawl to the door. You don’t see his head dropping to the ground with a sickening thud, eyes going dull as his desperate grip on the string is released.)

Just as your bare feet touch the cool floor, there’s an audible snap that has you lurching backwards, the string going lax and dissolving right before your eyes. Your back meets a hard surface that you know isn’t your bed, and a knife slides across your throat before you even have time to feel afraid.

The last thing you see are the red specks of the string’s remnants floating in the air as you choke on the blood that pours down your neck, the memory of a bright smile and an outstretched hand flashing-

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Sweater | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey Lovelies! Hope you're all doing well in this time of uncertainty, I know it can be tough. Never fear though, as always the Mikaelson boys are here to the rescue. I almost wrote another smut, like I had to put my laptop down and walk away, but alas I kept the tale on track. Kind of. None of my stories ever stay on track. Oh well, here you go loves, happy April 1st! Also, stay tuned for a master list that I will be posting sometime in the coming days!

Description: The Mikaelson household is a household that shares everything, something that Y/n finds out when she unassumingly picks up a sweater and puts in on without a care.

Pairing: The Mikaelson boys x Fem!Reader, definitely leaned this in Elijah's favour though

Warnings: None? Sharing? Is that a warning? They share Y/n there, I said it, you've been "warned"

Word count: 3798

Tags: FLUFF, very light smut, like not even just a heavy make-out scene,

(Photos do not belong to me but the mood bard does :) )

Life at the Mikaelson compound is, by no means, an ordinary one. It’s a lot of loud conversations, a lot of even louder fights, and a delirious amount of laughter. The kind of laughter that immobilizes people. It’s a life of never being alone, even when you want to be. Someone’s always around; chewing loudly when you want to read, sitting on your bed while you pick your clothes in the morning, hell even hanging outside the bathroom while you shower. It’s a life of love, the kind that fully consumes you.

Above all, though, life at the Mikaelson compound is a life of sharing. Food, books, beds, you name it. This house coined the phrase “what’s mine is yours”, literally. After two centuries of life with the Mikaelson siblings nothing surprises you anymore. Clothes are the main culprit. You don’t bat an eye these days when Rebekah strolls out of your room in a newly purchased dress or pair of pumps. You simply couldn’t care less. That’s just how things are.

That’s why it doesn’t cross your mind when you pick up a hoodie that someone had lazily draped over the back of a dining room chair. You were freezing and it was there. It’s probably Kol’s. Holding it up, it’s massive. You shake your head. Definitely not Kol’s. There’s a chance it’s Bekah’s but it doesn’t strike you as something she would wear. It's a cream white color with a Cambridge logo. Someone must be feeling sentimental. You settle on it being Klaus, the temperamental artist, pulling the hoodie over your head without a second thought.

You continue on your way to the den, padding barefoot in a pair of lounge shorts and your newly aquired hoodie. It has a familiar scent, one that riles your senses in the most delicious way, but you still can’t place it. Pine and nutmeg. You would think that a surplus of two hundred years with the same people would make you better at this but it hasn’t.

It’s unusually quiet. Considering you didn’t wake up cuddled next to Bekah, you’re already a little off centred. You haven’t woken up alone in years. By now you should have encountered at least two of the brothers and maybe a sister. Kol is usually up early. It’s kind of suspicious. You hear the slightest hum of noise as you get closer to your destination. Nothing crazy, but it’s there.

Entering the den, your questions are answered. Almost everyone is piled in, draped across the couches, sprawled on the floor, curled in armchairs. That’s more like it. Only one person is missing. Elijah. He’s been gone for a few days now. Your heart hammers at the thought of him. His smile flashes through your mind. Your veins sing. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s calling out to him. You seriously need to get that in check.

“Something on your mind, love?” Kol’s voice breaks you from your thoughts.

Of course he heard your heartbeat pick up, he’s a millennium of trained vampire hearing, “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

You walk over to the couch he’s stretched over, tucking yourself under the book he’s holding and into his chest. Cuddles are a big part of the Mikaelson household, just as much as sharing. He smells heavenly too, but different from the sweater. Sweeter, not as earthy. It’s just as lovely. Your mind falls from Eli as Kol places a kiss to your forehead. His arms are cool and you try and keep your pulse in check this time. This whole family has had you enamoured from the moment you first met them.

He nuzzles his chin against your hair, “that’s what we do, hun.”

“I know,” you murmur, your heart slowing back to normal as you pull a comforter from the back of the couch onto your legs. You’re still chilly, he’s not helping much with that.

“Hey, no fair,” Rebekah whines from the floor, “I want cuddles.”

You giggle from Kol’s hold, “guess you should have waited for me this morning then, huh?”

She pouts from her own pile of blankets, giving you puppy eyes. Bekah has perfected that look for centuries. Her blonde hair is piled in a messy bun on the top of her head, a few strands trickling down around her face. She’s wearing one of your t-shirts, the blue one you got at the New York Zoo a few years back. She makes it look like a ballgown.

“Don’t pout, sister, it's not becoming,” Klaus calls from the armchair he’s sat in, his bare chest on display for your viewing pleasure, “besides, I do believe that it’s my turn.”

Klaus is no exception to the Mikaelson charm. He's mischievous and playful. Yes, he can be ruthless and, yes, he did have a reputation for boxing his family members when you first met him, but now he’s different. He cares recklessly, a page he must have taken from Rebekah’s playbook.

Not to mention he’s undeniably gorgeous and he makes your chest flutter every time his blue eyes sear into yours. You are in way too deep.

Kol grumbles, tightening his arms around you before whispering, “can’t I ever have you for five minutes before the wolves descend?”

Naturally, everyone hears his complaints.

“Vampires, Kol, vampires,” Klaus chimes in, a devilish smirk on his lips, “now hand over the girl, brother.”

“Y/n, babes, cuddles please,” Bekah intensifies her pouting and you giggle again.

They’re in an all out war for your attention, but what else is new. Your eyes dart between Bekah and her pile of blankets and Klaus’ outstretched arms. You hate to say it, but the choice is a pretty obvious one.

You rest your head against Kol’s chest, breathing his intoxicating scent one last time, “I promise I’m all yours next time.”

He gives you a tight squeeze in return, “whatever you say, love.”

You wobble slightly as you stand up, readjusting your sweater and pulling it down where it had ridden up. The chilly air nips at your exposed legs as you stumble over to Rebekah, whose arms are now open and waiting. There's a blanket around her shoulders ready to engulf you. You’re more than ready to jump into her little nest.

Klaus’ words stop you though, “that’s a nice sweater, doll, where'd you get it?”

Wait, what?

“It was in the dining room, I figured it was yours,” you more than figured; you had been certain.

His laugh sends tingles flying up your spine, “unfortunately no, love, but I’ll never turn down the opportunity to get you in my clothes.”

“Or out of them,” Kol chirps from the couch, his nose turned into his book without a care in the world about who heard him.

Your cheeks flush at his suggestive words. Not because you aren't used to them, though. Comments like these were quite usual in the Mikaelson household. It wasn’t a normal day if at least one of them didn’t make you want to squeeze your thighs together and jump one, or maybe all, of them. No, you blush because it's been two hundred years of not one of them having actually followed through on anything and it pushes you closer to doing it for them everyday. Especially lately.

His words made your legs tremble but you continued with the topic at hand, “Kol, is it yours?”

He pulls his head from his book, his eyes dark with something you can’t say you haven’t seen before, “I wish.”

The sigh that leaves your lips is not of your own volition. His brown eyes burn into yours, daring you to turn away. You do. Sorry Kol, now is not the time for a staring competition. You cross your legs desperately and put your hands on your hips, looking to Rebekah for relief.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but that’s not my sweater.”

You run a frustrated hand through your hair. You don’t know why this is bugging you so much. Your whole body feels like it's being pulled in every direction by every Mikaelson. Except Elijah, who’s not here. His name in your mind alone, though, is enough to add him to the rest. He doesn’t need to be here for you to feel his pull. Everyone of your senses is on fire right now. The earthy scent hits your nose again and you close your eyes, trying to soak up every last drop. It's driving you mad and you can swear it’s getting stronger, but it’s probably just your sanity wearing thin.

You can hear the flimsy distress in your voice, “then who, pray tell, does it belong to?”

“Me, love,” your head goes fuzzy at the sound of his voice.

You spin around on clumsy legs, practically falling into Elijah, “Eli!”

He catches you easily, pulling you against his hard chest. You don’t hesitate to throw your arms around him, standing on your toes to get closer to him. Even through his suit jacket you can feel how strong he is. You hadn’t heard him come in, too distracted by the other three Mikaelsons in the room. He smells exactly like the sweater, which makes sense now.

He laughs into your hair, squeezing his arms tighter around you, “I missed you too, baby.”

His words make you breathless. They’re so unlike Elijah. Well, not the ‘I miss you’ part. It would be unusual if he didn’t say that. But baby? That’s very much not a word he frequents often.

“Elijah,” his name is a whisper coming from your lips.

Your heart pounds furiously in your chest. Being so close to him makes you delirious. You struggle to keep from pressing your legs together. You know he can read it all over you, they all can, his lazy smirk giving it away. Your face flushes again for what feels like the millionth time today. His eyes darken, the same way Kol’s had, and drag all the way down and back up your body.

He takes your face in one of his hands keeping the other arm hooked around your back, drawing his words out slowly, “you look ravishing in my clothes, baby.”

“Eli, what-”

You’re cut off by a pair of warm lips colliding with your own. His arms wrap once more around you fully, pulling you closer to his hungry mouth. You kiss him back like you haven't been kissed in years, and you haven’t, lacing your fingers through his hair and feverishly pulling his lips harder against yours. It takes everything in you not to moan against his mouth in the middle of the den.

“Awe, no fair Elijah,” you pull back, shocked and breathless, at the sound of Kol’s whiny voice, “I wanted to be the first one.”

He glances over your shoulder, past your wide eyes, at his brother, “too bad, little brother. I gave you two hundred years. You had plenty of time.”

“Well, I’ll be damned if I’m not the second.”

In the blink of an eye you’re in Kol’s arms, being dipped theatrically as he places his own lips where Elijah’s had just been. He tastes different, like berries and honey, whereas Elijah’s lips were peppermint. You kiss him back just as strongly, twisting your fists in his tee and pulling him as close to you as possible. All your senses are consumed by Kol, just as they were Elijah.

When he pulls away, your head is swimming, “I’ve been waiting for that for an eternity, hun.”

His eyes are shining, a huge grin on his pink lips. You haven’t been kissed this much in as long as you can remember. You feel lightheaded, like you’re walking on a cloud. When you peer up at Elijah, he doesn’t look upset. He probably should. You feel guilty for reeling at the new kind of attention.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you're pulled into a new pair of arms that scoops you into a firm chest.

“My turn, love.”

Klaus’ lips taste like chocolate. Kissing him is, again, different than both his brothers. Playful. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently. You sigh into his mouth, your hands on his face. He spins you around, laughing against your lips. Your heart soars once more. All you can see is Klaus.

When he sets you down, you break away from the three of them, at a loss for both words and air. Your whole body is on fire. Somehow, you can taste all three of them on your lips at once. You can hear your heartbeat furious in your ears. Your eyes dart between them, like a deer in the headlights. Your hand finds your lips. Swollen. But what did you expect? Your legs start shaking again but less out of pleasure and more out of shame. The room feels like it’s shrinking. You wish it would just swallow you already.

You whip your head around to meet Rebekah’s eyes, who looks as shocked as you feel. She sends you a small smile, though, nodding her head. She doesn't seem disappointed, but, then again, you could go on a killing spree and she would still look at you with kind eyes. You grasp at your chest, trying to slow your pulse even slightly. You can’t breathe. Your eyes dart to the door and then back to her eyes. She nods again. Then you bolt.

The Mikaelson boys are fast, they're a thousand years old after all, but you’re determined, and that makes you faster. You just barely close your bedroom door before there's a knock.

“Y/n, it’s Elijah,” his accent flows like honey through the door right to your ears, sending traitorous warmth to your core, “please open the door baby.”

“Why, are you all going to kiss me again?” Your voice is shakey.

You can hear him try to stifle a laugh, “I can if you want me too.”

You huff, frustrated, “I am serious, Eli.”

“It’s just me, love. Let me in?”

That makes you feel the slightest bit better. At least you only have to face one right now. You debate just leaving him out there but he’d probably bust the door down. Elijah is a gentleman but when he wants to talk nothing can get in his way. You run a hand through your hair, trying to make yourself look more presentable, less wanton. You pull the sleeves of the sweater over your hands, trying to hide the shaking.

Opening the door, you come face to face with a half worried Elijah. There’s a small smile on his lips but also a tinge of hesitance in his eyes. You step aside, letting him in before shutting it once more. He grabs your hand leading you towards your bed where he sits on the edge, drawing you to stand between his legs. His hands move to settle on your hips, settling under the hoodie and tracing small circles with his fingers.

“What are you thinking about?”

Your laugh is humourless. What are you thinking about? He can’t be serious. Each of the Mikaelson boys just kissed you, one after the other, all in front of each other, and he wants to know what you're thinking about. The weather Elijah, you’re thinking about the weather. God, you feel so dirty, which you know wasn't their intention but you can’t help it. You feel something for each of them. Something you definitely shouldn't feel. Something you had pushed down for a very long time. It’s hot and throbbing and you don’t think you could bear it if you had to choose between them.

You can’t look him in the eyes, “what do you think I'm thinking about?”

You don’t realize that you’re crying until you open your mouth, your words choppy and broken. As soon as you do, though, it’s like the floodgates have opened. You start sobbing heart wrenching cries, hands over your face, blocking out the now very concerned man. At the thought of losing any of them your lungs constrict. For someone who’s pretty indestructible, you feel like you’re suffocating. You barely register the curse that flies from his mouth before he has you tucked into his arms, his hands sliding over your hair and rubbing your back. Really, doing anything he can to get you to calm down even a little bit.

“Baby, shhh,” he’s frantic, trying to calm you down, “it’s okay love. You’re ok. We’re ok.”

“Eli,” you hiccup into his chest, “what happened out there?”

He holds you tighter against him, “you happened, Y/n. From the moment you walked through our door that’s been it.”

You pull back slightly, finally looking into his eyes, “what are you talking about?”

“We want you. All of us. Kol, Klaus, myself. Hell, even Rebekah is enamoured by you,” he picks you up before sitting back down, still holding you, “Am I too forward in assuming you feel the same?”

Your cheeks flame, the familiar heat returning to your thighs, which are straddling Elijah’s lap, a position you weren’t aware of until now. You wish you were still clueless, though. You positively ache for him, let alone the rest of his brothers.

“I shouldn’t Elijah, it’s not normal,” your hands rest on his shoulders, bringing you to his eye level for once.

He laughs quietly, leaning in close to your face, his breath hot on your lips, “baby, we aren’t normal.”

“How are you okay with this? You should think I’m easy. A tramp,” you cast your eyes downward, landing on his red tie.

He grabs your chin with his hand, forcing you to look at him again, “I would never, could never, see you that way. Love, you’ve been with us for two centuries and haven’t touched us once. You are anything but easy. I have loved you for two hundred years. So have they. If sharing you means I finally get to have you then I am ok with that.”

Your lips are on him the instant the last syllable leaves his lips, your hands curled around his tie pulling his mouth to yours for the second time today. It’s not like you to make any sort of move but if ever there was a time it’s now. He groans into your mouth sending electricity dancing down your spine. You squeeze your thighs hard around him, reveling in the feeling of his hips bucking up to meet your own. His hands slide up underneath his sweater, grasping at your skin desperately. He pulls it up and over your head, tossing it on the floor without a care before attaching his lips to your neck.

“That's what made me cave, baby, seeing you in my clothes,” he mumbles into your skin, hands under your tank top, roaming up your sides.

“Mmph, Elijah,” you can’t stop the moans from flowing freely from your mouth, you don’t want to. You’ve waited for this moment for what feels like an eternity.

Your hands tug on his tie, practically ripping it off his neck before starting on his shirt, pulling it open without a care for the buttons popping off around you. He leans back on his elbows, looking up at you with dark eyes. His hair is a mess, falling into his face in a very un-Elijah fashion. His shirt is wide open, putting his toned stomach on display for you. His breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling harshly with the air. He looks positively disheveled. Undone just for you. Sexy.

You slam your lips to his once more, pulling the shirt off his body before dropping it on the steadily growing pile of clothes. You wrap your arms around his bare shoulders, trying to get as close to him as you possibly can. Your fingers claw at the bulging muscles of his back, pulling a moan from him. The sound is music to your ears. You wish you could listen to it on a loop all day, every day.

His hands pull at your tank top, bringing it over your head and leaving you in nothing but a pink bralette and your shorts. His eyes devour every inch of bare skin, soaking up every curve and dip of your body on his. He looks exquisite. He looks hungry, his eyes pitch black and wanting. Elijah looks like a god.

His mouth attacks your collarbone, sucking harshly at the skin at the base of your throat. Your hands land in his hair, tugging at the soft strands. You never knew he had this side to him. This dominant, hungry side. It makes the ache between your thighs grow. Two hundred years of pent up energy threatens to spill over now and you don’t want to stop it.

So, of course, now is when someone decides to knock on the door, “Surrender the girl, Elijah, you already got the first kiss. Time to share, brother.”

Make that ‘someones’; Kol chuckles at his brother’s antics from behind the door. Klaus’ voice is playful but you can hear the serious note at the end. It makes your already lust-clouded mind even foggier. You know you have to go out there.

You pull Elijah in for one last kiss, sighing into his parted lips, “that’s my cue I think.”

He presses a kiss to your lips reluctantly, “I suppose it is.”

You stand, separating from him for the first time since he walked into your room. You dig his hoodie from the pile of clothes, reveling in the way his eyes, which had only recently gone back to their usual brown, turn black again when you pull it over your head. That will never get old. You toss him a knowing wink before reaching for the door. When your hand hits the knob he spins you back into his arms in a dizzying kiss. Your head twirls from all the times his lips have been on yours today.

With a slight growl, he pushes you out the door, “hurry back.”

You stumble into the hallway, giddy and full of life, right into Klaus’ waiting arms. He doesn’t waste any time throwing you over his shoulder, giving you the perfect view of his gloriously sculpted backside. You can't help the giggles that fall freely from your lips.

“Finally,” he starts jogging down the hall, towards his room, “now, about that sweater, Love.”

You look over his shoulder at Kol who shakes his head but smiles nonetheless. You barely make out the ‘me next’ he mouths at you before Klaus kicks the door closed and tosses you on his bed. The last thing you think before his mouth descends on yours is that you should have picked up that sweater one hundred years ago.

[geneshaven]

A Talk At The Bunker

Oliver stepped out of the elevator and came into the Bunker like a pariah. His mood was a dark one, as if heavy rain clouds filled his mind with storms.

Oliver had left the apartment an hour earlier. Felicity was still asleep on her side of the bed. He tenderly put his lips on her forehead as if kissing her dreams, dressed for the office and began to go over in his mind the Mayoral duties waiting for him there. He made a quick stop down the hall to check on William. The kid was still sleeping. He hovered in the doorway for a few seconds, wondering if he should go in the room and kiss his son as well. But with only a month gone by since returning from Lian Yu, Oliver could not gauge if that was enough time to be that personal with William. He slowly closed the bedroom door and let himself out of their apartment.

Over the past couple months, Oliver found it was difficult getting back into the normalcy of his responsibilities. The events on the island and the aftermath took his life in a whole new direction. It took away from whatever calmness and celebration his victory over Chase might have brought. But Oliver really didn’t see it as a victory, mainly because of what it did to William. He thought of what Felicity said to him at his birthday party about putting his feet up and relaxing. Even before Chase, that scenario was always a hard sell to him and it made him uncomfortable letting his guard down. Yes, currently there was no viable threat to the city, but Oliver felt that it was his duty to keep his radar on. He suspected that would always be a part of him, purposeful and adamant when it comes to protecting his city.

But there was another dynamic to the changes wrought by the Lian Yu incident. It brought Oliver into new territory, something he had no kind of training in. It brought self-doubt and uncertainty to him like a wave of broken glass crashing on the shores of his failure.

William.

It was Felicity who made things a bit more easy for him after they got back. She was what gave his life such familiarity and she knew the inner tides that made Oliver tick.  She is the one constant for him in the five years she has been in his life. All those years he kept getting in his own way by making bad decisions and lying and hurting those he loved, Felicity still had faith and trust in him, still kept him close and helped to steer him from losing his way in the darkness. When the island exploded (a sight that still filled his dreams with nightmares) all he could envision was what his life was going to be like without her; an emptiness consuming Oliver like a living, breathing abyss showing him just how far despair can take a person. And then he found her amid the smoke and ashes, a bright emanation shining in his heart. It was a moment that will always make  him smile. They looked at each other, covered in soot and sweat and relief and verbally consummated their life together by saying ‘oh yeah, we’re married.’  They crashed together in defiance of the carnage Chase created. An actual wedding ceremony was just a formality.  But one thing didn’t and never will change---Felicity will always be his first and last thought of the day.

However, William is another matter. Oliver told Felicity that his son is the purest part of him. He is innocence and trust and belief. Samantha gave that to him, gave him a sense of family and home, that nothing will ever hurt him. And then that reality shattered when Samantha was consumed by Chase’s killing fires. In one suicidal gunshot, William was bereft of his childhood, perhaps to the point of never feeling safe again. Confusion and grief and fear were his new companions, playmates that had nothing to give him but loneliness.

Oliver could feel the emptiness of the Bunker as he climbed up to the platform and sat at Felicity’s workstation. Sometimes he could still feel all the turmoil and loss and darkness that permeated the Bunker over the past year. It lingered in the air like the smell of burnt toast, cloying and dank. Felicity’s search algorithm was the only sound echoing in the room as it looked for that next person to step up and infuse evil into the city again. Oliver ignored the computers and kept his focus on the strife that his son was going through in the wake of his loss.

Then he heard the smooth whine of the elevator ascend to the empty campaign office above. Its door slid open and Oliver heard the faint click of high heels enter. The door closed and the elevator came back down towards Oliver’s solitude.

**

Felicity assumed when she woke up this morning that Oliver was already at his office. She got up and went down the back hallway of the apartment and checked on William. He was still asleep in his room. Felicity was worried that the boy was sleeping too much. In fact, William had been spending most of his time staying in the bedroom, really only coming out when hunger touched his grief. It was something Felicity wanted to discuss with Oliver. But since coming back from the island, she knew he was not comfortable talking about William, as if the shadow of Samantha’s death hovered over them like a predatory bird. In spite of her and Oliver committing themselves to one another back on the island, Felicity still had some tiny reservations on giving any kind of advice to him on how to integrate William into their lives.

After Riasa arrived to watch over William, Felicity left the apartment and drove to the Bunker. She wanted to upgrade some software she had recently installed that would ping the phones of every Team Arrow member. It was an addition to her search algorithm that constantly surveyed the city 24/7. She would have the Bunker to herself, without any distractions while working.

She arrived at the old campaign office and entered the elevator. As she rode down, Felicity tried to adjust her thoughts, away from the Oliver’s dilemma over his son.

The door slid open and Felicity was surprised to see Oliver sitting at her workstation.  “Hey,” she said to him as she came into the Bunker. “What are you doing here?”

Oliver turned around at the sound of her voice. “I was driving to City Hall earlier and fully intended to climb behind my desk and do City Administration things, then I was pulling up outside and climbing into the elevator. Suddenly, I wanted to be alone. Is that a set-back for me?”

Felicity walked up to him, leaned down and softly kissed him. “Uh maybe…” she replied. “But at least this time you went somewhere I could find you.” Both of them remembered when Oliver disappeared after Moira was killed.

Oliver’s expression stayed neutral despite the softness of her lips on his.

“Oliver, what’s going on?”

He shifted in his chair and started to avert his gaze.

“No, uh-uh Oliver,” Felicity admonished him. “Don’t you dare try to avoid me.  Inclusion, remember?” Suddenly, she climbed into Oliver’s lap, using her body to keep him grounded. “Now, tell mama what’s wrong.”

“Felicity…”

“Oliver…I know what’s wrong. This is about William, isn’t it? Please don’t tell me you came down here to brood?”

“Felicity, are you going to let me talk?”

She fell silent. “I’m sorry,” she went on. “Yes, you can talk.”

“Thank you.” Oliver looked into her waiting eyes. “Uh yeah, it’s about William. Felicity…I don’t know what to say to him. And I’m scared that if I don’t reach him now, he’s going to drift away.”

Felicity felt the tension clenching his body. “Oliver…I know this is hard for you. But I don’t know if it has anything to do with…well, with how William was a barrier between us at one time.”

Oliver shook his head. “Felicity, it’s not that. It’s…he’s not a secret anymore. I just don’t know how to approach him. Maybe there is a part of me blaming myself for Samantha…”

Felicity put a finger to Oliver’s lips. “Oliver…no. We already talked about this. Chase was responsible for her death. You did everything you could to save your son. Samantha was collateral damage.”

“Yeah…I know that,” Oliver responded. “But Felicity…he lost his mother. I’m coming from personal experience here. That kind of loss is not so easily overcome.”

“Oliver, I don’t want to tell you how to interact with your son, but maybe your mother’s death is a good place to start with him. Maybe if you shared with him what you went through, he might not feel so alone.”

Oliver nodded in recognition. “You are probably right,” he acceded. “But how do I let him know his pain is not…that it can’t define him?”

“Oliver, it’s a connection you will have with him, a commonality. Just let  him know you’re his father and that you’ll be there for him no matter what.”

“How?”

“Like you do with me…with love.”

@hope-for-olicity @louiseblue1 @almondblossomme @scu11y22 @flowerandsunshine @it-was-a-red-heeler @lovelycssefan @tdgal1 @memcjo @dmichellewrites

[woodentrain]

OBSABH chapters 5 and 6- fluffy like a lion’s mane?

So we’re all looking forward to the domestic fluff coming up next in Of Bright Stars and Burning Hearts.  But seriously, folks.  Let’s not get too excited.  It’s not all going to be fluff.  Well, it mostly is, but bittersweet fluff.  Fluff with distinct angsty undertones.  Fluff like a lion’s mane, if you will.

I guess I’d better explain the lion’s mane thing. In a hunt for inspiration I asked my kids ‘what’s the fluffiest thing in the world?’.  The small one said ‘Our cat’ (boring answer).  The big one said ‘a lion’s mane’.  They may or may not have had a fist fight about who was right, but it’s best not to dwell on that.  Let’s go back to the lion’s mane.  Now that I can work with.  The lion’s mane is the fluff, fair enough.  But right beside the fluff?  Some big teeth.  Some teeth that can really hurt you.  And I sort of feel that’s where Viktor is in Moscow.  Yeah, he’s enjoying the fluff, but in letting Yuuri in, in enjoying the fluff, he’s putting himself at risk of getting hurt.

To try and show the contrast between the fluff and the potential for hurt, I’ve made a list.  (It was supposed to be a little list, but it’s not).  Anyway.  As you can see, for every nice thing that happens, there’s a corresponding not-so-nice thing.  Worries.  Uncertainties.  Take a look:

Yuuri comes to stay at Viktor’s flat.  He’s right there.  In Viktor’s flat.  BUT- He’s all weird about it.

He knows things about Viktor, like how he lives in St Petersburg.  Why does he know that?  He’s showing an interest in Viktor the person.  BUT- A lot of the time, Yuuri doesn’t say anything.  Seems kind of awkward at times.

He loves Viktor’s dog.  Makkachin loves him right back.  What more could Viktor hope for?  BUT- He’s all weird about taking Makkachin for a walk- like he feels guilty about it.

Yuuri sleeps in Viktor’s bed. BUT- I’m sure buying a huge bed seemed like a great idea at the time.  Bet Viktor’s regretting it now.  Yuuri is all weird about it, they have a weird discussion about sleeping arrangements, and then he sleeps so far away from Viktor that he’s nearly falling out of bed.  It’s like he literally cannot get far enough away from Viktor.

Yuuri doesn’t seem to want to have sex.  Which is kind of a nice change, because it means that’s not all he wants from Viktor. BUT- Yuuri doesn’t seem to want to have sex, which is a shame, because, you know.  What, exactly, does he want from Viktor and their relationship?

Yuuri thanks Viktor.  BUT- Yuuri goes all weird and tenses up when Viktor calls him a Russian endearment.

Viktor wakes up after a nice long lie in and there’s Yuuri.  Still there.  In Viktor’s bed.  BUT- While Viktor is in the shower, Yuuri throws on some clothes and is about to sneak off without saying goodbye.

Yuuri comes back.  He doesn’t make any effort to find somewhere else to stay.  BUT- he still sleeps right at the opposite end of the bed, like he hates the thought of being close to Viktor

They have dinner together, right there, in Viktor’s flat.  Yuuri is in his flat having dinner with him.  He helps load this dishwasher.  It’s almost like he’s living there. It’s nothing like he’s living there. BUT- Yuuri seems pretty uncomfortable and unsure about being in Viktor’s space.  He’s even scared to sit on Viktor’s sofa.  

They have a nice conversation about why they love skating.  Yuuri opens up a bit to Viktor, and tells him things about himself. BUT- It’s still a bit weird though. Yuuri has ‘trouble looking Viktor in the eye’.  Then he just goes straight off to bed, without a word.

Yuuri sleeps in Viktor’s bed.  Again. BUT- he’s gone when Viktor wakes up.

Yuuri cooks for Viktor.  He cooks something which he remembers Viktor likes, from a conversation they had years ago. He has remembered something Viktor likes to eat and gone to the trouble of cooking for him.  In his flat.  Like he lives there.  BUT- He’s a bit weird about it.  Like Viktor might not want to eat his cooking.  Why wouldn’t he want to?  Why might Yuuri think he wouldn’t want to?

They share stories and laugh and talk.  BUT- after dinner it’s like Yuuri thinks he’s in the way.  It’s kind of awkward.  

They go walking in Moscow.  It’s just like a date. BUT- It’s not a date.  Totally not.

Yuuri wears Viktor’s costume.  Not just any costume- the one that matches the routine Viktor saw him skating in the empty rink years ago. That made him fall in love with Yuuri.  And he’s obviously skating his sexy routine for Viktor.  BUT- Does this mean he does just want Viktor for sex?  Because it’s not like they’ve talked about anything beyond the superficial, still.  And if Yuuri is skating his routine for Viktor, does that mean he understood all the times Viktor skated his routines for Yuuri?  If so, what does that mean? That’s going to be confusing for Viktor.

Turns out Yuuri does still want Viktor.  And he’s not just out for himself, because this is the chapter with The Blow Job. They talk about what they want, with actual words.  Yuuri doesn’t throw a condom at Viktor- he puts it on for him. This is really different sex to what they’ve had before.  And then they cuddle.  BUT- OK so there’s really no ‘but’ here- the sex is pretty fluffy, I’m not going to deny it. There’s not really a negative counter I can think of for this.  

Yuuri smiles at Viktor from the podium.  so… I guess by the end of the chapter the fluff is pretty all-consuming.  But look at the rest of the list! All of this must all be pretty confusing for poor Viktor.  

In this chapter, yes, there are a lot of nice things, a lot of fluffy, domestic, everyday things, like you’d do with a partner, in a relationship, living together. But by this stage, Viktor seems very much resigned to taking whatever he can get from Yuuri, however little it might be. The fluff doesn’t change anything much- it certainly doesn’t give Viktor the confidence to talk to Yuuri, to sit him down and ask him what’s going on between them.  He’s still living by the ‘don’t talk’ rule.  And how confused must Viktor be?  Yuuri is the king of mixed messages- go back to the list if you’ve forgotten.

Yuuri’s there for almost a week, but they tiptoe around each other.  If I had someone come to stay for a week we’d go out for dinner.  At least once.  If I couldn’t cook, and we were living on takeout, we’d probably eat out most nights.  You’d think Viktor would suggest this to Yuuri- but of course he doesn’t.  Viktor is still afraid of saying or doing something that might make Yuuri close himself off even more, or just run away. Viktor’s so set on having what he can, when he can, that he daren’t ask for more for fear of losing what little he has.

This thing between them has been going on for years now, and Viktor feels no closer to getting what he wants or figuring Yuuri out.  Having Yuuri in his flat, living with him, for a week… and still not figuring anything out?  That has to hurt.  Viktor’s had a great week, sure, but it’s so bittersweet.  He’s had a taste of what he really wants, but he still can’t have it, and he’s more confused than ever about what Yuuri wants from their ‘relationship’.

So- enjoy your fluff. I can’t pretend I’m not looking forward to it, too.  But don’t be too surprised if Viktor’s suffering quite a bit, too.  This chapter is his fluffy lion’s mane, after all.

[happybeeme0514]

Pure Chap 10

Chapter 10

Appearance

 I pull back and look at him, confused.

“What?”

Only now does Zyglavis wrap his arms around me, pulling me tightly against him so I can’t look at his face. I don’t know if he doesn’t want me to look at him while he tells me his story, or if he needs the assurance. Maybe both.

“Back when the gods began fleeing the Earth to get away from the humans, I was punishing them to try and make them see the error of their ways. Every time a human committed a sin, I punished them. Sometimes I punished hundreds within the span of a day. Over the course of a couple months, it seemed like they realized they were doing wrong. Several humans came to my temple to ask me on the behalf of all humans to stop punishing them, that they promised to stop sinning. And I, stupid as I was, believed them,” Zyglavis chuckles darkly, the sound filled with self-loathing and regret.

“For all of a week, the humans kept their promise. But then it started all over again. I was exhausted, but I kept punishing them, with more intensity than before…but it was too late. The dark king had been growing in the darkness of the hearts of humans that used to be nothing but peaceful. He had gathered enough energy to become a living being, and he was so powerful from the hate, the uncertainty, the anger, and the despair that I couldn’t fight him alone. The other gods wouldn’t help me. They said the humans deserved what they got. But there was no way I could just leave them.”

“Zyglavis…” Is all I can say. Silent tears fall down my cheeks as I tighten my arms around his neck.

“I might as well have created the dark king with my own two hands.” Zyglavis sighs. I feel his hands leave my back. “I put you in this danger, Eden,”

“No,” I shake my head fervently and pull back to look at him, taking his face in my hands. “It’s not your fault, Zyglavis. None of this is your fault.”

“If I hadn’t stopped punishing the humans he never would have come into existence.”

“Stop. Please don’t blame yourself,”

I stroke my thumbs across his cheeks, looking into his shining eyes. It seems as though he’s holding back tears of his own.

“You have done nothing but protect me from the beginning. Putting a ward on my house, always watching over me…even though I really wished you wouldn’t go to school with me,” He cracks a tiny smile. “You love humanity more than any other god, and that’s why you punish us the way you do, even if it takes a hundred times. You’re so warm, and kind, Zyglavis. You’re so much more than you think you are. You need to believe that.”

Zyglavis looks up at me silently, listening to what I have to say, moving his fingers to wipe away my tears as I speak.

“There you go again,” He whispers, seeming more to himself than to me. “Crying for me.”

“Do you think maybe I’m crying the tears that you refuse to?” I ask him. His eyes look straight into mine, his irises like crystal clear pools.

As we stare at each other, my heartbeat quickens, and I can feel my cheeks warm up. Oh, this is bad. This is a terrible time to realize it, but as I stare into his eyes, I figure out that I don’t just have a simple crush on him.

I’m in love with him.

 I can’t breathe, it’s too quiet, a suffocating silence, and I can’t see a thing. My lips move, wanting to say his name, but my voice is paralyzed. As I writhe about in fear, a pair of red eyes open and hover above me; a silent scream leaves my lips.

“How pretty.” An icy, malicious voice says, sending chills down my spine. The sharp teeth glint dangerously only inches from my face. “Your fear, your uncertainty…delicious.” I feel a cold, hard finger stroke down my cheek. I want to scream. I want to thrash. But I can’t. It’s like he’s holding me down with his mind. “I merely wanted to tell you that I shall be paying you a visit very soon, my pretty girl. Oh! Silly me, I almost forgot. If you dare breathe a word of this to your precious gods, I will not only kill you, but them as well. Starting with your little protector. Zyglavis. I look forward to seeing your fearful face in real time. Ta-ta.”

With a sharp pop, I wake up, my eyes shooting open and my body jerking. Beside me, Zyglavis props himself up on his elbow. “Eden?” He asks, sounding worried. I take a deep breath and stare up at the ceiling for a moment to compose myself before looking at him.

“Ah…it was just a dream,” I whisper.

“The nightmare?” Yes.

“No.”

I know it’s in my best interest to tell Zyglavis about it, about what the dark king told me. As I stare at his frowning face, I think about the threat he made to me. I can’t let anyone else get involved in this, and I especially can’t let Zyglavis get hurt because of me. Inwardly, I scoff at myself.

But this is his job, Eden! He’s supposed to protect you!

Yeah, but he could get hurt…he could be killed because of me.

Do you even understand the gravity of this situation? If you don’t tell Zyglavis and meet the dark king on your own, what if he kills you and consumes your soul? That would completely defeat the purpose of Zyglavis being with you in the first place!

But I can’t let him die! I love him!

I love him. Those words echo in my mind over and over again, and I feel the sting of tears in my eyes, tears of frustration, fear, and longing. I want to tell him how I feel, but I know that would only be a thorn in his side. Gods see humans as goldfish. Little insignificant lives that are so easily snuffed out.

I swallow tightly and try to fight back my tears.

Still, Zyglavis asks, “Why are you crying?” Dammit.

That question opened up the floodgates, and I start sobbing like a child who fell off their bike. Startled, Zyglavis shoots up and grabs me, propping me up on his lap. “Eden, what happened?” His voice is high-pitched and confused. It’d be adorable if I weren’t crying because of how scared I am that he’ll die because of me, how scared I am of being in love with him.

And him holding me like this isn’t helping.

“I…it was a dream…about…about…” I scramble to think up a lie. “About mom and dad…” Ugh. I hate lying about them. Zyglavis’ hands, which have been gently moving up and down my back, pause for a moment, and his arms tighten around me. I squeeze my eyes shut.

It’s not fair. Why does he have to be so warm and gentle? It’s strange. I never thought I would wish for him to go back to being the cold, mean god from six months ago, but it’s what I want more than anything right now. I want to detach myself from him. I want to push him away.

My arms move, but instead of doing what I want, they wrap around him, my head nuzzling into his jacket. Even through these clothes, I can hear the gentle rhythm of his heart, feel the warmth of his skin. More tears fall from my eyes. It’s as if they’ve turned into faucets.

“They’re at peace now, Eden,” Zyglavis whispers to me, like he’s soothing a baby rather than a teenage girl. “It’s alright.” I only cry harder. It seems he bought my lie, but if only he knew the reason I’m crying. Why does this have to be so hard?

 For the next week, anything and everything has me jumping. From Ichthys jumping out from behind a bookshelf to Zyglavis saying my name when it’s quiet to being called on in class. I can tell Zyglavis is getting suspicious, but it’s easy to see he’s confused as to why I’m acting this way, which is good. He’s usually so perceptive, so I’ve been nervous that he’ll somehow figure out what’s going on, and then what? I can’t just tell him to buzz off and let me walk into certain death.

With Zyglavis’ growing concern, that strange shadow from before has been showing up more and more when he’s not around me. I’m starting to wonder if it’s the dark king, waiting for his chance to get me.

At the mansion today, I sit in a daze as Zyglavis, Scorpio, Leon, and Karno all discuss the increase of fighting on Earth.

“���so in North Korea, the dictator has officially declared war on China,” Leon says, sounding grim.

“And China?” Zyglavis asks.

“They’re more than happy to fight with North Korea,” Karno answers, his usually cheerful voice flat. “We thought that maybe war wouldn’t declared, but…”

“Like we could ever hope those filthy humans can do anything right.” Scorpio snarls, shifting his weight from his right foot to his left.

“What about the other situation you’ve been monitoring?” Zyglavis asks Leon.

I had become used to them arguing every time they laid eyes on each other, but lately, they’ve been nothing but formal, speaking of tense situations and the terrible things other humans have been doing to each other. It’s unsettling.

“Relations between the US and countries in the Middle East have been souring,” Leon replies. “Especially between Saudi Arabia and Afghanistan.”

“The leaders of both countries have threatened the US multiple times with talk of nuclear attacks,” Karno says, snapping his fingers and making paperwork appear. “Still, the President is keeping borders open.”

“The queen of England has closed the borders of her country, as well as Mexico and Canada,” Leon says.

“Then why won’t the President of the US close his borders?” Scorpio growls.

“He says, and I quote, ‘We want to keep a sense of normalcy with our citizens and any tourists wanting to come to our great nation. Border security is being led by the top organizations of our country, from the Marines to the National Guard, from the CIA to the FBI. We will keep our citizens safe.’.” Karno reads from the papers he’s holding.

I sigh, slumping back against my seat.

“It’s like he wants to be attacked,” Scorpio says with a frown of blatant displeasure.

“He probably does,” Leon says with a furrowed brow. “He probably wants an excuse to go to war.”

I look over to them, noticing that Zyglavis has been silent for quite a while. His hands are balled into tight fists and his jaw is clenched tight as he listens to the other three gods speak.

“Has the dark king been seen yet?”

That question, spoken through clenched teeth, makes the room fall into a deathly silence for what seems like forever. Finally, Leon replies, “Hue and Teo have observed a strange dark mist appearing at places…she goes.” His eyes flicker to me, and I stiffen. I notice Zyglavis does the same.

“They said it usually shows up within the half hour after she leaves. It’s like he’s trying to catch her scent or something.” Karno adds.

A shiver runs down my spine.

“Don’t worry, Eden,” Zyglavis tells me. “He won’t get anywhere near you.” If only you knew. I think, my hands clenching tight onto my pants, turning my knuckles white.

 The next day at school, Mr. MacFarlane sends me out to the office to pick up some tests he had forgotten for our class.

As I turn out of the office, the doors leading to the library and the office slam shut along with the fire doors, making me jump. The overcast day suddenly turns into the blackest night, making it impossible to see the courtyard, the temperature dropping quickly from a comfortable seventy-three to an icy twenty. Goosebumps rise up on my skin as anxiety swims around in my belly. My breath becomes faster as my body freezes in place, afraid to move.

“Hello, love,” A deep, raspy voice coos from behind me. I gasp and whirl around. Behind me stands a shadow figure, fuzzy and see-through, with glowing red eyes and razor sharp teeth. My right foots slides backward, my body tensing to start running. As if reading my mind, the shadow laughs. “Oh, my sweet little human…You can’t run from me. Not anymore.”

Suddenly the shadow is in front of me, expanding to surround me like smoke from a fire. The tests in my hands fall to the floor as my arms become like limp noodles, scattering all around me on the cheap linoleum floor.

My lips part, my mind getting ready to scream for Zyglavis, but I quickly force my voice to stay silent.

How dumb is this? He’s literally ten feet down the hall, just past the fire doors, but I can’t call for him.

“Ah…your fear is delicious. But what’s this? You don’t fear for your life? Hm…” What seems to be the dark king’s face leans in close to me, nestling into the crook of my neck. An icy cold tongue runs over my skin, and a small whimper escapes my lips. “Even now, you fear more for your gods than yourself. Particularly that Punishments minister. Have a little crush, hm?”

“Don’t speak of him…” I gasp. It’s getting hard to breathe. The smoke surrounding me is slowly but surely filling my lungs. The dark king laughs, the sound like nails scraping down a chalkboard, sending shivers down my spine.

“Even now you have an attitude? I don’t know if you’re brave, or just stupid.”

My knees buckle and I slide down onto the floor, my chest rattling as the insidious smoke replaces the oxygen I need to breathe.

“Aw…I was hoping you’d put up more of a fight. But I’m glad you headed my warning in not telling the gods. Once I’ve consumed your soul, it will be much easier to defeat them.” My eyes squeeze shut as diamond tears slip down my cheeks. I can only hope that the king can stop this evil, and that the other gods make it out alive.

Suddenly a snap rings out in the air, a cool, powerful wind forces the smoky form of the dark king away from me. I sputter and gasp, greedily pulling air into my lungs as large hands wrap around my waist and pulls me up off the ground.

“How dare you!”

Zyglavis’ powerful voice booms in the hall, sending shivers down my spine. The dark king gathers his misty form and just stares at us for a moment, carefully scrutinizing him. Then his mouth pulls into a wide, sickening smile. “Fascinating. You’ve made this very interesting for me.”

And then he dissipates.

Everything goes back to normal, like nothing had happened. The sky returns to the grey it had been all day, and the fire doors have reopened, the lights in the office flickering back on.

“Dammit!”

I turn my eyes up to Zyglavis’ face and see just how furious he is. His eyes are like a grey fire, a scary sneer twisting his perfect mouth.

“Zyglavis…” I whisper. My tears continue to spill over the sides of my eyes, falling down my cheeks and landing on my purple sweater. Struggling to conceal his anger so as not to frighten me anymore than he already has, Zyglavis closes his lips and looks down at me.

“It’s alright,” He whispers, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me to his chest.

As he strokes a big hand down my hair, my shaking fingers curl tightly against the jacket he’s wearing. One of the buttons digs into my cheek, but the discomfort doesn’t bother me. What bothers me is that the dark king is gathering more power. It’s obvious to see. The things the gods were talking about the other day, the increase in fighting around the world, the selfishness, the greed…it’s all giving him what he needs to come after me, and that means the gods will have to fight him.

A shiver of dread runs throughout my body.

Zyglavis’ arms tighten around me, trying futilely to soothe me.

I look up at his face to see he’s staring at nothing, his brow tightly furrowed and his mouth set in a straight line. He looks like he did when he first met; expressionless and stone-faced. That does nothing to comfort me.

“Miss. James, Mr. Acte…”

At the sudden, stern voice of our principal, I, albeit most unwillingly, pull myself from Zyglavis’ chest and turn to see the middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair approach us, his expression firm.

“What are you two doing out here in the middle of class? Why are there papers all over the place? And…Miss. James, are you crying?” His eyes widen slightly when he realizes I have tears on my face, and as I quickly scrub them away, Zyglavis steps in.

“My apologies, Mr. Slader. Mr. MacFarlane sent her to get the tests for our class, but sent me to get her when she took too long. She tripped and fell. Hurt her knee.” I nod quickly, confirming Zyglavis’ story before Mr. Slader can ask me.

“Ah, I see. Well, let me help you pick them up.”

As Mr. Slader bends over to begin cleaning up the mess, Zyglavis lifts up his hand, a charming smile on his face.

“Of course I can’t let you do that, sir. I’ll pick them up. Eden, are you alright to assist me?” I nod quietly, and, sniffling, begin to hastily pick up the scattered tests, turning my back from them.

I wish I knew what was going through Zyglavis’ head. The expression on his face…does nothing to make me feel better. Something’s going to happen.

[robultrash]

Pulse

The only good thing  I’ve ever written 

Bulgaria: Dimitrov 

Romania: Vladimir 

“Vlad…” Dimitrov had moaned, my lips pressed against his collarbone. We were both shirtless, both heated. Both really fucking horny.

I had pinned Dimitrov down. I was more comfortable being under my lover, staring up into forest eyes. I liked it more when he was in charge, it let me be lazy. Or so, that’s what Dimitrov would tell me. But this time, I had taken control, was rocking my hips against the ebony man’s own, was whispering foreign words that he could barely understand, but he probably got the hint anyways.

“Nhg…Vlad…” Dimitrov moaned again, and I swear, it was the prettiest sound I had ever heard. He was under my control, both willingly and not, since I couldn’t help that my pheromones were probably driving him up a wall. And, again, it wasn’t helping that I hadn’t fed properly in a few weeks.

“If this...If this is your way of asking to bite me, you know you’re allowed.” Dimitrov said, and I knew it. He had given me permission before. And yeah, it usually started out like this. Or ended up like this. Either way, usually, whenever I needed to feed, Dimitrov ended up getting fucked.

“Can’t you give me the illusion of being in control?” I pouted, not that I was all that needy of dominance. I was perfectly fine being on Dimitrov’s receiving end. And even before I had started, I was already thinking about apology sex. I always had to apologize, somehow. I didn’t like using Dimitrov as a blood bank. But he practically would force it on me.

Dimitrov smirked up at me, he was in no position to be smirking. “Sorry, please, continue.” He said, and I did so gladly, straddling his body, and moving my lips over him. The terrain was well known for me, and not just because I spent a lot of time kissing the man’s chest and neck, though he had pointed out on more than one occasion how much time I spent there. As a vampire, you learn to understand the body you regularly visit. I’ve learned his pulses, veins that don’t hurt as bad to bite for feeding. Soft spots that could make him moan, or divots that my tongue would fit in perfectly. I had learned his body well, practically studied it. And it always paid off, for both me, in that I could make things less painful, and for him, in that I knew exactly what places to pay my apologies to.

I pull up, my fangs making themselves known through my smile. I sense Dimitrov’s fear. Of course, the process is still scary. The pain, the uncertainty. I could fuck up badly, or I could accidentally turn him. If I ever turned Dimitrov, if I ever cursed him with this, I don’t think I could live with myself.

“I can do it another day, when you aren’t so tense.” I offered, and Dimitrov was very tense. I wasn’t sure why, what stress was he not sharing? We are lovers after all. Usually I could read Dimitrov like a book, but he seemed very keen on hiding whatever it was that was bothering him.

He could read me well too, though. “You’re worrying too much, just keep going, before I grow soft.” He whined. Dimitrov didn’t get pleasure from being bitten, not when blood is drawn , anyways, so I knew better than to continue to pester him about what was wrong. He would tell me, eventually.

I nodded slightly, before leaning down. I rocked my hips a few more times, earning me the desired moans of Dimitrov, before I came close to his neck.

I usually bit his arm. That way, if mistakes happened, they could be easily taken care of. But in the heat of the moment or some demonic possession, I was slowly licking the Bulgarian’s neck, prepping him for what was to come.

Dimitrov seemed to stiffen, realizing I didn’t want my usual, but he didn’t complain. He never complained. I could ask to suck him dry (blood, not penis) and he would gladly accept.

“Vladimir.”

My brain didn’t register my own name, as my fangs grazed the thin skin of his neck. I could hear the blood running through his veins, could feel the goosebumps on his arms that I was holding. I could smell him, he was wearing cologne, it masked the scent of iron my vampiric side was seeking.

“Vladimir…”

My teeth sunk into him without my knowledge, wasn’t even sure what I was doing until the warm liquid filled my mouth. My whole self awareness flicked away, like a switch, and all that was left was the hunger that I had been denying myself, far longer than I let on. What I took from my lover wasn’t enough. And here, so close to the pulse that I denied myself constantly, I couldn’t control myself.

“Vladimir!”

Not even the scream broke my concentration. I remember each detail, the bit of blood that dribbled down my chin and onto the bed. Weak arms, pushing at me, trying to get me off. The more I consumed, the more of myself I seemed to lose.

I didn’t stop until that little pulse faltered.

“Dimi?” I said, pulling up, still not fully processing what was happening. I stared down at my lover, whose vibrant green eyes were now sickly and hazed. I noticed pale Dimitrov was, how much blood still seeped from his wound.

“Dimitrov!” I screamed, every nerve of mine on edge. What had I done?!

Dimitrov didn’t respond, merely closing his eyes. I threw myself off of him, desperately looking for anything to cover the holes in his neck, but my vision was blurred. Why was I cursed with tear ducts still?!

“No no Dimi, stay alive!” I begged. I contemplating turning him, but that was a selfish desire. I wanted Dimitrov with me always, I didn’t want to lose him. But I had nearly killed him, he wouldn’t want to spend an eternity with me. I didn’t deserve such a thing.

I wrapped my earlier discarded shirt around his neck, and once more felt for a pulse. It was there, but weak. It had never been so weak. I heard Dimitrov try to mumble something out, it sounded like a swear.

“No, don’t talk. I’m gonna call for an ambulance.” I said, searching around for a phone. I found Dimitrov’s in his pants, and I felt like crying harder. I had went too far this time.

The ambulance took too long. It felt like forever between the time I had called the emergency line, and when medical help finally arrived. I was still hovering over Dimitrov when they came in, pressing my now blood soaked shirt to his neck and crying over him, whispering to him, telling him stories about good little humans who didn’t die.

I was ushered into the ambulance with them, but I didn’t deserve to be. I thought about telling them what happened, but I didn’t want to be away from Dimitrov either. I had to make sure he lived.

Once more, the thought crossed my mind about turning the Bulgarian. I couldn’t live without Dimitrov. I knew I couldn’t give him up, but again, guilt reigned over my being, and I also knew I didn’t deserve anything from Dimitrov, especially not an eternity.

When Dimitrov had flatlined though, all thoughts of selfishness left me.

“No! Let me through!” I screeched, pushing at the doctors and nurses trying to hold me back, fangs flared out. Venom dripped from my teeth, and I snarled at everyone holding me back. But I couldn’t let Dimitrov die. I needed him to be with me.

“Sir! You need to step back!” One doctor yelled at me. He was a vampire too, I could smell it on him. He could read on my face how badly I had fucked up, how badly I thought this would save him.

“Turning him won’t fix this, let us save him.” The doctor said, and I finally backed off. I was asked to leave the room, and I stood right outside the door. I hadn’t cleaned up, blood still stained my face, and it didn’t help that I now smelled of pheromones from attempting to turn someone. I was surprised when no one came to put handcuffs around me and send me off to prison. I belonged there anyways.

Hours passed, and I could do nothing but pace. I couldn’t grow tired, and even if I could, I wouldn’t have slept anyways. I tried to clean myself off, but every time I looked in the mirror, I started crying. It held the face of the monster that almost killed his best friend, his lover. It eventually got so bad, a nurse offered to clean me up. I allowed her to wipe away Dimitrov from my face, but I kept my bloody shirt. I didn’t deserve to be so easily cleaned of my crime.

When a doctor finally came looking for me, I wondered if it was possible for a heart to stop without having one, because that’s what the moment felt like.

“Sir, your friend had to undergo a blood transfusion, you took a lot out of him.” So it was known what he had done? Good. He hoped everyone in the building hated him.

“But, he seems to be recovering well. He isn’t awake, but his heart beat is steady.” She explained.

“Can I see him?” I asked her, and she nodded, allowing me back into the room. I stared at his body. They had changed his clothes, and tubes and wires stuck out him. He looked more dead than alive, I thought, but the constant beeping of his heart monitor told me otherwise.

“His recovery has been so amazing, we believe he will be waking up within a few hours.” She explained, before resting a hand on my shoulder.

“He had woken up a few times, while you were out in the waiting room. He called out for you.” She explained. I towards her, before my eyes began to water, and I looked back at Dimitrov.

“If you want new clothes, or for us to call anyone-” The woman started, but I cut her off.

“I already left that information with a nurse outside, his friend will be here in a day or two.” Dimitrov didn’t have any family, not that I know about anyways. I knew he had friend named Roderich, and that was it. His father had died when he was young, and his mother was out of the picture. Dimitrov had had nothing until I came into his life.

And now, he only had absolute betrayal.

I sat by his bed for hours. I didn’t need to sleep, but at one point I had rested my head on the bed, and dozed off, thankful just to be able to feel Dimitrov’s warmth that only a human seemed to possess. I came too when I felt fingers playing with my hair, and the sound of voices.

“No, I’m not pressing charges or anything, it was an accident, after all.”

“Are you sure? You do know it’s illegal for a vampire to kill a human without good reason?” A male voice said. I resisted the urge to lift up, though I was practically dying to talk to Dimitrov, but not with someone else in the room. I wanted him alone.

“Well, then it’s good he didn’t kill me. Can you leave now? He’s awake, and you’re only making him self conscious.”

A blush burned on my face, and I lifted up, glaring at Dimitrov.

“Why would you say that?” I asked, pouting heavily, before reality struck me once more.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean-.”

I cut Dimitrov off with a tight hug, tears burning my eyes, but the pain was welcomed. I had never been so relieved and sad and happy in all of my life. The other presence finally left, and I was alone with Dimitrov.

“Vlad, Vlad my neck…” I pulled away, realizing I had buried my face right into his wound. I stared at the bandage, it was thick and ugly and I hated that I had did this to him.

“Dimi…” I started, feeling a lump form in my throat. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to fight off the tears I didn’t deserve.

“I’m so sorry.” I knew it wasn’t enough. Sorry was not good enough for what I had done.

“It’s okay, I should have known better than to let you at my neck.” Dimitrov said, reaching out for me, but I jerked back.

“Don’t blame yourself! This is all my fault!” I cried, feeling hiccups begin to rack through my body. I was a cry baby, I knew that, but I felt guilty for even crying. I didn’t deserve to feel so sad, knowing this was all my fault. I deserved to lose Dimitrov and to feel guilty and to hate myself and-

My thoughts were cut off by soft lips pressing against my forehead. My eyes opened, and I saw Dimitrov, looking hazy with sedatives, but alive. He was alive.

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.” He said sweetly. Dimitrov always knew the right things to say to me, even when he was the one who needed to be comforted.

“I almost killed you.” I stated.

“You didn’t though.” Dimitrov said, which wasn’t much of a comfort, but the fact that Dimitrov was still alive was enough for me.

“I’m sorry.” I said again, my lip quivering. Dimitrov rolled his eyes at me, and smiled lightly.

“Get up here you idiot.” He told me, and I obliged, crawling into the hospital bed with him.

“My heart's still beating, my blood is still flowing. I’m alive. And I’m still with you.” He whispered. I flushed a bit, but was happy to still have my Dimitrov with me. My head was on his chest, and I could feel his heartbeat against my cheek.

“I’m sorry.” I said again, it was the only words I could form with the way my throat was closed up. Dimitrov’s fingers found their way back into my hair, and he soothed me, easily calmed me down. I loved how he could do that, without words.

“It’s okay, but…”

I grew stiff at that.

“But you’re banned from kissing my neck for a year.” He said, a hint of humor in his voice. I decided to play along, because I knew it was what he wanted. He wanted me happy.

“What? Nooooo, Dimi!” I whined, looking up at him with fake sad eyes. He smiled back down at me, before closing his own green eyes that finally looked normal again.

[standforford]

hey here’s that angsty fidds fic i was talking about

it’s just kind of about his slow descent into insanity, i have some notes and stuff on what i want to write next

it’s unfinished and patchy and i have to add and edit a lot of stuff but i have about 3k words so far

TW for blood and suicidal thoughts

It always seemed like a good thing at first. But it never was.

It had seemed like a good thing when his friend invited him up to Oregon. And it had been, at first. Stanford said the project they were working on would change the world. Fiddleford wasn’t sure about that, but he was happy to be working with his old roommate again. It’d been great to catch up on the years they’d missed. They reminisced about their days in college, talked for hours into the night, and stayed up late playing games of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons.

It had seemed like a good thing to forget. And it was, at first. After the incident, when he had entered the word GREMLOBLIN into the device and forgotten... It was amazing. No more worries, no more sleepless nights. The feeling he had when he blasted away that horrible moment was as close to euphoria as he’d ever experienced.

It didn’t take long for things to go horribly wrong again. Soon enough, the bliss was gone. In its place was the memory of the musty air of the bunker cabinet, the closeness of the cold metal walls, the crushing darkness, the feeling of a filthy sock in his mouth, and the texture of rope, rough against his skin. A snakelike whisper, an awful, terrible creature, horrible words…

“I’ll make you watch as I tear him apart. You'll sit in here with his corpse until you starve. No one will ever find your bodies.”

He raised the gun to his head and forgot SHAPESHIFTER.

He thought he was in the clear until Ford started decorating the house with eyes and triangles. Until Fiddleford started finding little subtleties hidden in the other's calculations that hinted at something greater than either of them, more advanced than any human mind. Fiddleford’s questions grew more intrusive. Stanford’s answers grew more evasive. There were some nights he was sure that Stanford’s pupils were a little thinner and taller than usual. Sometimes he would utter phrases that seemed strange coming out of Ford's mouth. He would say a word with a slightly different tone or make a gesture Fiddleford had never seen him make. Small things that grew into larger things the more he dwelled on them.

Fiddleford tried put it out of his mind, but it never worked. He told himself to look down at his paper and finish checking his equations and don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it… But the more he tried not to think, the more he thought. He wished he could forget the things that he could never quite pin down, the little thoughts that ran away with him. The paranoia that plagued his consciousness, never solid enough to put into words. The uncertainty that was always there. It was there in the tinge of yellow in Ford’s eyes he could’ve sworn he saw in the late afternoons. In the prickling feeling of unease that would make his whole body go taut and all his muscles tense. He would forget fear if he could, but he was too scared to try.

Eyes were everywhere now, on walls, rugs, and tapestries. Hundreds of eyes, and he felt like they were all watching him. More triangles in the form of prisms scattered everywhere. Too many. He accidentally sliced his wrist on the sharp tip of one of the glass pyramids when he went to grab his clipboard once. He stared at the blood as it dripped onto Stanford’s favorite yellow rug in the study. Yellow. That was everywhere, too. Yellow, triangles, eyes… There was something Stanford wouldn’t tell him. And more and more, he became convinced that the man he worked with on a daily basis wasn’t his Stanford.

It became something that consumed his waking hours. And when he started hearing whispers in his dreams, his waking hours grew longer and longer. But he couldn’t forget because he couldn’t forget yellow or triangles or eyes. There was something deeply unsettling connected to their not-so-little construction project. As testing day drew ever closer, he knew that something was coming. He didn’t know what, but he knew it was big and scary and involved triangles and eyes and the color yellow. And he knew he had to do something to stop it. He certainly didn’t know what strange power was at work, and he didn’t think Ford did either. Neither of them knew what they had gotten themselves into.

He decided that he had to save Ford from himself. He wasn’t sure if he could tear Stanford away from his work – His friend's dedication to the project was unshakable. But he had to. He had to, or else something terrible was going to happen to them. Fiddleford would not stand by and watch everything crumble - It simply wasn't an option. He was partly responsible for creating this big, confusing, terrifying mess, after all. 

So he wrote. He wrote for his life. He wrote for himself, for his son, for Stanford, for everyone he loved, for everyone in the world. He wrote for three nights with shaking hands and tired eyes and with the hope that he could escape whatever horrible fate awaited on the other side of the portal. He didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He didn't stop when he snapped the seventh pencil that night between his fingers without even realizing. He didn't stop when tears blurred his vision and stained the page and wrinkled the paper and smeared the words. There was only one time he drifted off, and a shrill voice in his head quickly remedied that problem.

“TICK TOCK, SPECTACLES!”

He didn't make the mistake of falling asleep again.

He stared across the table at the seat where Stanford had been sitting a few minutes ago, ignoring the dull chatter of the other patrons in the diner around him. He'd done this. It was his fault. And now he couldn't save Stanford. He couldn't save anyone. He stared at his shaking hands for a few seconds before folding them on the table in front of him. At least he'd tried. But now there was nothing to do and no way to forget his anxiety and worry and distrust and suspicion and fear. He needed a memory to attach those emotions to so he could rid himself of them, but he didn’t have a solid one. All he had were little glances and fleeting thoughts.

He knew if he went through with the test, he’d finally have something forgettable. There was something behind that portal, and once he found out what it was and who the voice in his dream belonged to, he could forget. He didn’t want to do it, but the desire to wipe his mind clean was greater than his reluctance. He had to experience something to forget about it. It was either go through one more traumatic event and erase the entire project (and the terror that came with it) or live with the guilt forever. He'd done his best, but there was no way he could stop whatever was coming. All he could do was erase it from his memory. And frankly, he would much rather leave it all behind.

He sat there until the diner closed. He snuck into the museum and into his room, where he'd taken to staying overnight. He couldn't sleep in the same house as "Stanford" knowing that whatever used to be Ford could do something to him at any moment. But only Fiddleford knew about this place. It was his only safe haven, its location and existence erased from the minds of everyone but him. He stared at the graph labeled "PROBABILITY OF FAILURE" on the wall and tried to cry himself to sleep. The relief of slumber never came.

He hadn’t meant to leave the rope around his wrist. He wanted to find answers, but never this way. He had known finding the truth wouldn't be pleasant, but the image that was burned into his skull was something to man ever ought to have seen. But now he could forget it. Now he could finally forget that voice.

“DID YOU REALLY THINK SIXER WAS GONNA LISTEN TO YOU? TOO BAD YOU WASTED ALL THAT TIME AWAKE SCRIBBLING AWAY AT THAT STUPID PAPER, I WOULD’VE ENJOYED GIVING YOU A FEW MORE NIGHTMARES!”

He broke into a sprint as soon as he was out the door, heading straight for the museum and not caring that he was missing a shoe. He left everything behind. His banjo, his family photos, his personal computer. He didn't care. He pressed the bulb to his temple and forgot PORTAL. He pulled the trigger and forgot BILL CIPHER. He cried again, but not tears of fear or guilt or sadness. Tears of sweet, sweet relief, tears of joy. He laughed to himself and to no one, rocking back and forth on the floor as tears streamed down his cheeks. Maybe this truly was euphoria.

He stayed away from the room where all his diagrams were for the next five days, instead hanging out in the other hidden passages in the museum and busying himself with building a transport system for memory tubes. Ivan helped out. The carny had been assisting him out ever since they met months back. Ivan had often been on patrol duty while Fiddleford and a few construction workers (who wouldn’t recall any of it, of course) built the underground passageways, making sure none of the museum staff knew what was going on right under their noses. If anyone did know, they no longer remembered. While Ivan was an amateur when it came to engineering and machinery, he did have an artistic side. A lot of the more visual aspects of the secret area (the statues, the engravings, etc.) were there thanks to his work and recommendations.

The first time Fiddleford walked back into his room, he was thrilled to find that he remembered nothing. He spent the next few weeks making sure that every trace of the project was gone and making sure he really had forgotten everything. He shuffled through every folder in his file cabinet and shredded all his calculations and diagrams, then made sure he forgot they had existed in the first place. He used the memory gun again every time something jarred his memory until there was nothing that could remind him of his failure.

Except eyes. They made him shudder and didn’t know why. He certainly didn’t want to find out why they made him react so strongly. It had to be connected to something he’d erased. And what he’d erased, he’d erased for a reason. But he couldn’t escape them. There were eyes in his dreams whenever he closed his.

He bolted awake from a nightmare of a thousand eyes surrounding him, breathing coming in shallow gasps. As he hyperventilated, he quickly got to his feet and began frantically scrawling eyes with an ‘x’ through them on the walls all over his room, over the diagrams and graphs that meant nothing to him anymore. He flung papers out of his file cabinet, not really knowing what he was doing. All he knew was that he had to unsee. He clambered atop the file cabinet, his knee smashing into the drawer and denting it. He erased his old diagrams on the chalkboard and put a blind eye in its place. Erasing and replacing. In a way, drawing the symbols was comforting. It made him feel like the past couldn’t hurt him. He tried to slow his rapid breaths, sitting down on the floor and curling up in a fetal position until the panic passed.

He didn’t realize the mess he’d created until he’d calmed down. The decorative plate that sat atop his file cabinet next to the wilted potted plant he kept forgetting to water had fallen to the ground. It now had a large crack running down the center. He picked it up and put it back in its place with a frown, then turned back to assess the rest of the damage he had done in all his flailing about. The graph on his bulletin board was torn and there was a messy black handprint on the wall. Miscellaneous ink and paint stains were everywhere. His file cabinet was busted and the contents were scattered. He reminded himself it was just a dream as he typed NIGHTMARE into the memory gun and brought it to his temple. It would all be unseen.

A few weeks later, the memory tube transport system was finally complete. The security system was in place. Everything was ready. It was finally time to begin recruiting members. The Society of The Blind Eye was officially in operation. It didn’t take long to find new members, since the town of full of people who had witnessed the paranormal.

The Society gave him purpose and direction. He felt like was doing something that really would change the world, something worthwhile. It really would make people’s lives better, he was sure of it. The feeling of carelessness was mistaken for happiness, ignorance equated to bliss. He was surrounded by people like him. People who wanted to forget just as badly. People who wanted to help others.

It had seemed like a good thing until he realized that erasing the memory didn’t erase the pain. Until a few weeks after the Society had been established and he saw Stanford down the street. He looked like a madman, unshaven and wide-eyed, stains on his coat and dark bags under his eyes. Seeing that face made things start to come back to him… Not memories, but emotions. A deep sadness that came from nowhere and cut through his very being. He didn't understand why. He looked at him and should have felt happiness. The only memories of his friend were happy ones. But it was the memories he didn't have that were at the forefront of his consciousness. There was nothing in the space where those memories should have been except for guilt and fear and pain that came from nowhere, with no explanation. 

He told himself from the beginning that he wouldn’t use the device to forget anyone he loved. But he didn’t know if he had a choice. If he didn’t forget Ford, he might start recovering the trauma he'd worked so hard to get rid of. The fear of all the pain coming back was too strong. It took his sense of right and wrong and skewed it, took his promises to himself and broke them, took his morals and destroyed them. The fear took hold of him in the night and guided his hand to the gun. Then it raised the gun to his head. 

He forgot STANFORD PINES.

There were tentative thoughts, little misgivings around the edges of his brain a couple of months into the endeavor, doubts that swirled around his mind. He pushed them to the back of his consciousness and looked for more reasons to forget. Every time he would start to remember, he would look for another excuse to scramble his brain. He didn't forget things because they were disturbing, he forgot things because he was scared to remember. He forgot because the elation he felt when he blasted himself with blue light was as close to heaven as he could ever get. Even if the relief was only temporary, it was certainly preferable to the growing void inside him. 

The metaphorical hole in his brain only continued to grow and more the more and more he forgot. The crash after every erasure sent him further and further into insanity and depression every time. It only made him want to do it again and again even more, made his yearning for the high every wipe gave him that much stronger. Every time he pulled the trigger, he made it harder for himself to go back. He burned bridge after bridge in his mind until there was nothing left to burn.

He saw a group of gnomes in the forest. It didn't scare him. He typed in GNOMES and forgot anyway. He forgot gnomes to forget the guilt he felt when he stared at himself in the mirror. He didn’t want to think about the fact he’d been wearing the same shirt for two weeks or that he hadn’t shaved or showered or that his hair was a rat’s nest and his coat was frayed and his shirt was stained and his tie was wrinkled and he looked like the mess he was. He knew it wouldn’t help. At this point, he wasn’t sure if he cared.

He had another nightmare, another panic attack. He erased it. He had another and another and he erased the memory again and again until his room was torn apart. He didn’t remember putting the words “HELP ME” on the wall in big red letters. He didn’t recall tearing down the chalkboard or smashing that vase. He didn’t remember doing any of it. Maybe that was for the best.

He looked so hard for things to forget that he began to resort to erasing things that were mundane. He hated himself for putting the gun to his head every time he felt empty. Something inside him knew what he was doing to himself. He ignored it. He was best at ignoring things. The side effects, the warning signs. He always had been. He ignored it when he started forgetting about things he was sure he hadn’t intentionally forgotten… Or maybe he had? Wiping a memory was like pulling out a sweater string… It started to make the whole thing unravel. But he just kept pulling out string after string.

The Society hated him now. They used to love him. They used to think that he was a genius, a hero. The people that had once followed him with such dogged loyalty looked at him as if he was nothing. They saw his state and they were scared by it. They didn't want to see what they could be faced with becoming. They accused him of abusing the device, of being selfish. And he was. He was selfish, and he knew it. He was selfish for trying to forget his problems instead of facing them. He was selfish for depriving his son of a loving father that could actually function and take care of him. He was such a coward. Such a coward. Too afraid to face his own fears, his own mind, his guilt, himself. 

He wouldn't remember them closing in on him. He wouldn’t remember the tears spilling down his face as the bulb was brought level with his forehead. He wouldn’t remember that Ivan was the one who pulled the trigger and erased SOCIETY OF THE BLIND EYE from his mind. Ivan wouldn’t remember either. Because as soon as he was out the door, he forgot FIDDLEFORD MCGUCKET.

There were a lot of times he sat in his room, turning the dial, entering different things into the gun, staring at the display, contemplating the consequences. He thought about forgetting Tate or his ex-wife sometimes. Sometimes he thought about forgetting Fiddleford. Sometimes he thought about forgetting breathing. He wanted to forget everything.

[preciousmetals0]

Hong Kong Fluey; Airlines Clash; Chip Hopes Dashed

Hong Kong Fluey; Airlines Clash; Chip Hopes Dashed:

Hong Kong Fluey

It’s no secret that I like being right, dear readers. But not like this … not like this.

The Wuhan coronavirus has spread to nearly 3,000 confirmed infections and close to 80 deaths. China has now quarantined 16 cities, issued a group-travel ban and a ban on eating wild meat in Wuhan.

Yes, that last point seems rather bizarre to many of us who reside in the States. Why are the Chinese eating wild meat? But just think for a second if the U.S. government issued a ban on eating deer meat in the Midwest to prevent a virus spreading. That hits a bit closer to home, doesn’t it?

But I digress…

Outside of China, there are five confirmed cases of the coronavirus in the U.S., and a handful of cases in countries such as France, Japan and South Korea.

Wall Street is reacting to the rapid spread of the coronavirus as I expected. Heading into the midday, losses were nearly 2% across the board for all of the major market indexes.

The Dow Jones Industrial Average plunged 500 points at its lowest levels of the day. The tech-heavy Nasdaq Composite Index shed some 2.2% at its lowest levels, as traders took profits on China-exposed chip stocks.

All in all, it was a really rough way to start the week.

The Takeaway:

I woke up this morning looking forward to researching the glut of corporate earnings slated to arrive this week. I was even somewhat excited about December’s durable goods orders, consumer confidence figures and housing data. (Yes, I know I have a problem. It’s why I write Great Stuff. Welcome to my therapy sessions.)

The economic data seem pretty moot at this point. The potential economic impact of a global pandemic kind of throws all that data out the window. Any takeaways we could’ve drawn from last month’s housing or durable goods orders is now less than conjecture.

Corporate earnings reports also seem a bit less important than before for many of the same reasons. With the advent of the Wuhan coronavirus, the future is once again more uncertain than it was before. Prior-quarter results will be cheered, but not as much as they would’ve been. Guidance will be heavily scrutinized and any signs of weakness punished harshly.

And, as I’ve said many times before, Wall Street absolutely hates uncertainty.

In all honestly, this is exactly how investors should’ve operated before the coronavirus. It’s no secret that Wall Street is in an easy-money bubble. The recent surge higher since New Year’s was a relief rally brought on by the U.S.-China trade deal.

But it wasn’t just the China trade deal. The Nasdaq had hit 28 record highs since November — the most since February 2000. The S&P 500 Index had gone 71 days without a 1% move. Even in a bull market, that’s quite a run higher.

In short, here’s what I’m saying: The market was itching for a reason to sell, and this deadly virus outbreak was the perfect excuse.

What we see in the market right now is a profit-taking sell-off … tinged with a bit of fear. If the current outbreak runs the same course as others — SARS, MERS, Ebola, et cetera — this sell-off is a buying opportunity. That said, there are too many unknown factors still out there:

How will this impact the Chinese economy?

Will it affect global trade?

Will the new coronavirus spread in Western countries?

The best thing you can do right now is not panic. Hunker down, hold what you can and wait. There’s no way to plague-proof your portfolio other than holding stable, well-run companies.

If this pandemic turns out to be a big nothing-burger, you still own stock in growing businesses. Well done.

If it’s going to heck … then it’s time for a Wall Street fire sale! Panicked investors will dump their shares at the littlest signs of trouble, and that’s our best buying opportunity.

Banyan Hill expert Jeff Yastine is able to tell the stock market’s diamonds from the falling rough. Bullish or bearish, Jeff has a trained eye for spotting rock-solid businesses that are best positioned to grow in any market — pandemic or bust.

If you feel unprepared for a market crash gone viral, Jeff just uncovered one stock that should be added to every portfolio … no matter where the market’s headed.

Click here to learn how to get details on the one stock Jeff recommends you buy today.

The Good: The Au Wu-Flu Rally

If you’ve been picking up what Great Stuff has been putting down, you likely hold a little gold in your portfolio somewhere. The malleable metal is nowhere near as hip as it used to be, but it’s still among the best investments for occasions such as these.

With today’s flu-panic sell-off, gold prices are edging in on six-year closing highs. Well, at least bullion prices are, according to FactSet data.

Last I saw, Gold for February delivery (GC=F) was up $10.70, less than 1% away from its January 7 highs. If you remember, those highs were driven by heightened tensions with Iran, after the U.S. killed a top Iranian general.

For those keeping track, that’s two potential black swan events in less than a month. Man, 2020 is shaping up to be a real doozy, isn’t it?

The bottom line here is that, if you don’t already hold gold in some form in your portfolio, you seriously need to consider it.

The Bad: Group Travel Banned

If you and several of your China-based friends had flight plans this week … I have some bad news for you. Effective this morning, China banned international group travel.

The move is designed to help contain the coronavirus outbreak, but the fallout is hitting the airline industry hard … China is the world’s largest outbound travel market, after all. But not all outbound traffic is banned — just group travel. Forbes has an informative article on the ban here, if you want to read more.

And it’s not just the Chinese government. Ford Motor Co. (NYSE: F) and General Motors Co. (NYSE: GM) both restricted employee travel to Wuhan, China.

Still, just the mention of a travel ban tanked airline stocks today.

The biggest losers are those with international reach, such as American Airlines Group Inc. (Nasdaq: AAL), Delta Air Lines Inc. (NYSE: DAL) and United Airlines Holdings Inc. (Nasdaq: UAL). Overall, the U.S. Global Jets ETF (NYSE: JETS) is down roughly 3% today.

Unfortunately, the airline industry already struggles with the fallout from Boeing Co.’s (NYSE: BA) 737 Max debacle. The addition of a pandemic coronavirus and travel bans will pressure the airline industry even more. This weakness will linger for a while.

The Ugly: Sick Chips

If you thought the airline industry was in a bad way today, you haven’t seen semiconductors. Chip stocks have been red-hot in the wake of the U.S.-China trade deal — mostly because many semiconductor companies have crucial manufacturing and supply chains in China.

Those supply chains are called into question once again with the Wuhan coronavirus. Companies such as Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co. Ltd. (NYSE: TSM), Xilinx Inc. (Nasdaq: XLNX) and Micron Technology Inc. (Nasdaq: MU) are getting hammered as the outbreak spreads like wildfire across China.

Unlike the airline industry, however, semiconductors will bounce back quickly from this latest setback.

Why? Take your pick: cloud computing growth, Big Data processing, the mobile device upgrade cycle, the 5G revolution, next-gen consoles … there are so many reasons that semiconductor stocks will rebound from today’s losses that it’s not funny.

When Great Stuff talks about holding on to well-run companies in a mega trend market, this is what we’re talking about … the Intel Corp.s (Nasdaq: INTC) and Advanced Micro Devices Inc.s (Nasdaq: AMD) of the market. These are the companies that you’ll want to own while riding out this latest round of volatility.

Even 5% corrections are not fun. … They tell you they’re “buying opportunities” and they are. They don’t tell you that down 5% the news turns bad and then you’re afraid the 5% turns to 10% or 15%.

— Frank Gretz of Wellington Shields.

This quote comes from a Barron’s article that I linked to above. If you followed that link, you’re probably a bit more worried than usual today. It was very doom-and-gloomy.

When we link to articles like this, our goal isn’t to make you panic. It’s to make you aware of the situation. There’s good, actionable information in that article … but the best piece of advice isn’t the fearmongering by Frank Gretz — it’s the takeaway by author Ben Levisohn:

This drop is likely not the big one, even if it may feel that way. … So far, it’s hardly a 5% drop. But brace yourselves, just in case.

Great Stuff: Opportunities in the Crisis

The trade war is over. World War III is averted. Harry and Meghan renounced their royal status. For a brief moment in time, all was right with the world…

And then the coronavirus came along and messed everything up.

Much like the Spanish Inquisition, no one expects these black swan events. That’s why they’re called black swan events.

But that doesn’t mean it’s time to run around panic selling. Nor does it mean that you should try to catch every falling knife you see. (Ouch!)

So, how do you find opportunities when the world appears to have gone mad?

Well … that’s what Great Stuff and the gurus at Banyan Hill are here for!

Today, Ted Bauman and Clint Lee of The Bauman Letter have the inside scoop on two sectors to avoid and three opportunities to take advantage of in this crisis. Click below to watch this week’s edition of Your Money Matters:

[embedded content]

If you’d rather cut straight to the chase and learn how to get access to Ted Bauman’s exclusive market research, click here now!

Until next time, good trading!

Regards,

Joseph Hargett

Great Stuff Managing Editor, Banyan Hill Publishing

[goldira01]

Hong Kong Fluey

It’s no secret that I like being right, dear readers. But not like this … not like this.

The Wuhan coronavirus has spread to nearly 3,000 confirmed infections and close to 80 deaths. China has now quarantined 16 cities, issued a group-travel ban and a ban on eating wild meat in Wuhan.

Yes, that last point seems rather bizarre to many of us who reside in the States. Why are the Chinese eating wild meat? But just think for a second if the U.S. government issued a ban on eating deer meat in the Midwest to prevent a virus spreading. That hits a bit closer to home, doesn’t it?

But I digress…

Outside of China, there are five confirmed cases of the coronavirus in the U.S., and a handful of cases in countries such as France, Japan and South Korea.

Wall Street is reacting to the rapid spread of the coronavirus as I expected. Heading into the midday, losses were nearly 2% across the board for all of the major market indexes.

The Dow Jones Industrial Average plunged 500 points at its lowest levels of the day. The tech-heavy Nasdaq Composite Index shed some 2.2% at its lowest levels, as traders took profits on China-exposed chip stocks.

All in all, it was a really rough way to start the week.

The Takeaway:

I woke up this morning looking forward to researching the glut of corporate earnings slated to arrive this week. I was even somewhat excited about December’s durable goods orders, consumer confidence figures and housing data. (Yes, I know I have a problem. It’s why I write Great Stuff. Welcome to my therapy sessions.)

The economic data seem pretty moot at this point. The potential economic impact of a global pandemic kind of throws all that data out the window. Any takeaways we could’ve drawn from last month’s housing or durable goods orders is now less than conjecture.

Corporate earnings reports also seem a bit less important than before for many of the same reasons. With the advent of the Wuhan coronavirus, the future is once again more uncertain than it was before. Prior-quarter results will be cheered, but not as much as they would’ve been. Guidance will be heavily scrutinized and any signs of weakness punished harshly.

And, as I’ve said many times before, Wall Street absolutely hates uncertainty.

In all honestly, this is exactly how investors should’ve operated before the coronavirus. It’s no secret that Wall Street is in an easy-money bubble. The recent surge higher since New Year’s was a relief rally brought on by the U.S.-China trade deal.

But it wasn’t just the China trade deal. The Nasdaq had hit 28 record highs since November — the most since February 2000. The S&P 500 Index had gone 71 days without a 1% move. Even in a bull market, that’s quite a run higher.

In short, here’s what I’m saying: The market was itching for a reason to sell, and this deadly virus outbreak was the perfect excuse.

What we see in the market right now is a profit-taking sell-off … tinged with a bit of fear. If the current outbreak runs the same course as others — SARS, MERS, Ebola, et cetera — this sell-off is a buying opportunity. That said, there are too many unknown factors still out there:

How will this impact the Chinese economy?

Will it affect global trade?

Will the new coronavirus spread in Western countries?

The best thing you can do right now is not panic. Hunker down, hold what you can and wait. There’s no way to plague-proof your portfolio other than holding stable, well-run companies.

If this pandemic turns out to be a big nothing-burger, you still own stock in growing businesses. Well done.

If it’s going to heck … then it’s time for a Wall Street fire sale! Panicked investors will dump their shares at the littlest signs of trouble, and that’s our best buying opportunity.

Banyan Hill expert Jeff Yastine is able to tell the stock market’s diamonds from the falling rough. Bullish or bearish, Jeff has a trained eye for spotting rock-solid businesses that are best positioned to grow in any market — pandemic or bust.

If you feel unprepared for a market crash gone viral, Jeff just uncovered one stock that should be added to every portfolio … no matter where the market’s headed.

Click here to learn how to get details on the one stock Jeff recommends you buy today.

The Good: The Au Wu-Flu Rally

If you’ve been picking up what Great Stuff has been putting down, you likely hold a little gold in your portfolio somewhere. The malleable metal is nowhere near as hip as it used to be, but it’s still among the best investments for occasions such as these.

With today’s flu-panic sell-off, gold prices are edging in on six-year closing highs. Well, at least bullion prices are, according to FactSet data.

Last I saw, Gold for February delivery (GC=F) was up $10.70, less than 1% away from its January 7 highs. If you remember, those highs were driven by heightened tensions with Iran, after the U.S. killed a top Iranian general.

For those keeping track, that’s two potential black swan events in less than a month. Man, 2020 is shaping up to be a real doozy, isn’t it?

The bottom line here is that, if you don’t already hold gold in some form in your portfolio, you seriously need to consider it.

The Bad: Group Travel Banned

If you and several of your China-based friends had flight plans this week … I have some bad news for you. Effective this morning, China banned international group travel.

The move is designed to help contain the coronavirus outbreak, but the fallout is hitting the airline industry hard … China is the world’s largest outbound travel market, after all. But not all outbound traffic is banned — just group travel. Forbes has an informative article on the ban here, if you want to read more.

And it’s not just the Chinese government. Ford Motor Co. (NYSE: F) and General Motors Co. (NYSE: GM) both restricted employee travel to Wuhan, China.

Still, just the mention of a travel ban tanked airline stocks today.

The biggest losers are those with international reach, such as American Airlines Group Inc. (Nasdaq: AAL), Delta Air Lines Inc. (NYSE: DAL) and United Airlines Holdings Inc. (Nasdaq: UAL). Overall, the U.S. Global Jets ETF (NYSE: JETS) is down roughly 3% today.

Unfortunately, the airline industry already struggles with the fallout from Boeing Co.’s (NYSE: BA) 737 Max debacle. The addition of a pandemic coronavirus and travel bans will pressure the airline industry even more. This weakness will linger for a while.

The Ugly: Sick Chips

If you thought the airline industry was in a bad way today, you haven’t seen semiconductors. Chip stocks have been red-hot in the wake of the U.S.-China trade deal — mostly because many semiconductor companies have crucial manufacturing and supply chains in China.

Those supply chains are called into question once again with the Wuhan coronavirus. Companies such as Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co. Ltd. (NYSE: TSM), Xilinx Inc. (Nasdaq: XLNX) and Micron Technology Inc. (Nasdaq: MU) are getting hammered as the outbreak spreads like wildfire across China.

Unlike the airline industry, however, semiconductors will bounce back quickly from this latest setback.

Why? Take your pick: cloud computing growth, Big Data processing, the mobile device upgrade cycle, the 5G revolution, next-gen consoles … there are so many reasons that semiconductor stocks will rebound from today’s losses that it’s not funny.

When Great Stuff talks about holding on to well-run companies in a mega trend market, this is what we’re talking about … the Intel Corp.s (Nasdaq: INTC) and Advanced Micro Devices Inc.s (Nasdaq: AMD) of the market. These are the companies that you’ll want to own while riding out this latest round of volatility.

Even 5% corrections are not fun. … They tell you they’re “buying opportunities” and they are. They don’t tell you that down 5% the news turns bad and then you’re afraid the 5% turns to 10% or 15%.

— Frank Gretz of Wellington Shields.

This quote comes from a Barron’s article that I linked to above. If you followed that link, you’re probably a bit more worried than usual today. It was very doom-and-gloomy.

When we link to articles like this, our goal isn’t to make you panic. It’s to make you aware of the situation. There’s good, actionable information in that article … but the best piece of advice isn’t the fearmongering by Frank Gretz — it’s the takeaway by author Ben Levisohn:

This drop is likely not the big one, even if it may feel that way. … So far, it’s hardly a 5% drop. But brace yourselves, just in case.

Great Stuff: Opportunities in the Crisis

The trade war is over. World War III is averted. Harry and Meghan renounced their royal status. For a brief moment in time, all was right with the world…

And then the coronavirus came along and messed everything up.

Much like the Spanish Inquisition, no one expects these black swan events. That’s why they’re called black swan events.

But that doesn’t mean it’s time to run around panic selling. Nor does it mean that you should try to catch every falling knife you see. (Ouch!)

So, how do you find opportunities when the world appears to have gone mad?

Well … that’s what Great Stuff and the gurus at Banyan Hill are here for!

Today, Ted Bauman and Clint Lee of The Bauman Letter have the inside scoop on two sectors to avoid and three opportunities to take advantage of in this crisis. Click below to watch this week’s edition of Your Money Matters:

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If you’d rather cut straight to the chase and learn how to get access to Ted Bauman’s exclusive market research, click here now!

Until next time, good trading!

Regards,

Joseph Hargett

Great Stuff Managing Editor, Banyan Hill Publishing

[asenseofagency]

Family:

I talked with my adult brother just a bit the other day about the short-term separation of contact I’ve instituted from my parents. After a change of jobs and a short-notice relocation, he’s temporarily living at home, so he’s got abundant contact with them.

He’s sympathetic to them, more so than I can be. He understands the existential crisis, the loss of purpose, they’re approaching with retirement. So do I but I have no sympathy for it. I was thinking about what my underlying resentment is about my parents and I think I’ve been able to touch on it.

In this family of four, we’re all bound by essentially the same personality type: somewhat introverted, definitely anxious, high-strung, and deeply, obsessively thinking. Anxiety is probably the difference-maker. We’ve adapted to our common anxiety in two different ways. My dad has been medicated for it and for depression for half his life; my mom was briefly medicated but had unpleasant side effects. In the non-pharmaceutical, psychological sense, however, it’s my opinion that my parents have never dealt with the anxiety that rules their lives. My brother and I, on the other hand, have.

Anxiety is like a rubber band; it constricts, relentlessly. It applies unending inward pressure. Everything is cause for self-doubt, worry, and apprehension, and so the natural reaction is avoidance - avoidance of stressors. The problem is, as that rubber band shrinks, so does your comfort zone, so do the number of things that don’t cause you anxiety. You become more isolated, more risk-averse, less able to adapt, more fearful... The only way to deal with anxiety (non-pharmaceutically) is stress inoculation. You have to address (daily, hourly) the sources of your anxiety and only through persistent exposure do they lose their ability to stress you.

As a child and even a young adult, my parents sheltered my brother and I. I can guess that the only thing stronger than their own anxiety was their desire to attempt to eliminate all obstacles and discomfort from their kids’ lives. I know this was well-intentioned but it was horribly counterproductive. By the time I was applying to colleges, at precisely the time independence should have been asserting itself, I was essentially unable to function independently I had been so sheltered. I was still, emotionally, a child. That was my own wake-up call.

This has been the single defining experience of my adult life: the process of working through my anxiety is everything that has made me me and in concert with that, I’ve had to simultaneously apply constant pressure to push my parents away as hard as I’m able. They want to protect my brother and me - I understand it - but they have been smothering about it in the past, as their own anxieties about our wellbeing consume them.

Their politics and their lives are a reflection of their anxiety. To them, protestors aren’t desperate people who feel themselves oppressed and voiceless, they’re terrorists. The fact that protests are happening all over the country isn’t a sign of widespread disenfranchisement, to them, it’s ingratitude - a cultural contagion, to be wiped out. They are driven by the safety of routine, unable to adapt. They grocery shop on a schedule; they go to the movies on a strict schedule. They panic and are overwhelmed at uncertainties, unexpected difficulties, and new experiences. Ordering at a new restaurant is a stressful ordeal for them, quite honestly. My mother has had breakdowns at work, panic attacks, because she has chosen to obsolesce herself and avoid learning anything new for years. I’ve reluctantly helped her out emotionally and professionally on those occasions but the fact that they happen at all disgusts me. They are self-induced failures of basic life skills. My parents have isolated themselves socially and recreationally. When they quite gleefully broadcast their support for a border wall-building Trump for months on end, they were taken aback when a pair of their closest friends - conscientious, adherent Christians - decided to break off that long-standing friendship. “How un-Christian of them!” my dad remarked and had to have it explained to him that people who’ve taken to heart the brotherly love and charity aspects of Christianity might find a person like Trump not only distasteful but dangerous. He didn’t get it. My mom, who has only in recent years abandoned pointing out scornfully every hijabi she sees, thought it was “immature” and “childish” for her former friend to let politics interfere with their relationships. She was a sore loser, that’s all, as if one’s politics didn’t affect other people.

There is nothing new in their lives, precisely because they’re fearful of it and they’ve allowed their comfort zones to shrink and shrink. Sometimes, they’ll voice opinions that aren’t even their own: they recite what they’ve heard from talking heads on conservative TV and radio. They don’t go outside, meet new people, or form opinions on the basis of their own experience with the world as it exists in the present day. They’re looking out of a box through a pinhole onto a world they fear, more than anything, because they’ve never developed the skills to manage anxiety.

My brother and I, because we’re still relatively young, don’t have that luxury. We’ve mastered our anxiety, not vice versa, because the nature of changing jobs and relationships in youth prevents us from walling ourselves in. We’re exposed to more of the world and more different types of people, by requirement, than they are. I think my brother and I have independently realized that we’ve got to adapt, undertake risk, and march confidently into new situations. It’s the only way to live meaningfully. My parents haven’t had to adapt to anything for decades and their lives reflect it: small, routine-dominated, dull, and isolated. They’ve got the pathology of thinking that all old people do: things were objectively better when I was young and it has nothing to do with the fact that I was better then!

Not only can I not related to their way of living - I haven’t been driven by fear and avoidance since I was a sheltered child - I hate that they’ve chosen not to do their own work on themselves. I actively resent those breakdowns of my mom’s because they’re ridiculous and preventable with the most modest of efforts. But she’ll retire soon, and the problem of being nominally functioning at work will take care of itself!

In spite of the fact that they have no plans for retirement, just subsistence, boredom, and 24-hour conservative cable news consumption, they don’t see themselves as having a fundamental poverty in the quality of their lives as long as they can ward off the anxiety induced by the larger world.

At the moment, I just can’t associate myself with their crappy, fear-driven attitudes, even out of familial duty.